


Moonstruck

by JBankai89



Series: Lunaticus [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Remus is kind of a butthole, Violence, Werewolf Lore, alternating pov, werewolf hierarchy, werewolf violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 75,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8566789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: Six months after the harrowing events following the downfall of Red Moon, Harry and Remus couldn't be happier together. But all is not as well as it seems. Remus has yet to make a decision regarding Greyback's invitation, meanwhile Harry has begun to experience inexplicable, vivid dreams. He fears losing Remus, and struggles with the decision of whether or not to confide in his partner the details of his dreams, certain that the wrong move might push him away.





	1. Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> **STOP! This is book TWO of the Lunaticus series! Go back and read Half Moon first, then come back to this!**
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> A/N: Aaaaaand we're back! Welcome to book two, I hope you guys enjoy where I take the story. This book won't be as long as book one, it's sort of a bridge connecting books one and three. (The first draft came out to a little over 50K, and depending on rewrites and edits, it may not get too much longer than that.) Anyway, as always comments and concrit are lovely. Also, it's mentioned in the tags, but I'm gonna mention it here too: While 90% of the story is in Harry's POV, there will be a segment of the story where the POV will switch for a couple of chapters. I know this bugs some people, so I figured I'd warn you guys in advance so when we get to that point you're not like, wtf?
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> Italics in this fic will be used for dream sequences and flashbacks, but I'm pretty sure I did an okay job at making the distinction between the two so it doesn't get overly confusing. If anyone finds it hard to follow please let me know and I'll fix it.
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> I am participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) at the same time as I post this, so while I will do my best to keep up with everything, if I miss one of my self-imposed deadlines it's because I'm doing too many things at once and my whole brain may have fallen out. For the moment I'll be posting every Tuesday, and more frequently once I have more of the final draft ready to go.
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> Tl;dr, thank you so much for taking an interest in my stories, and I hope you guys enjoy it!

“ _I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts, by which even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations; and in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall.”_

_-Robert Louis Stephenson, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde_

 

Chapter One – Surprises

 

_The scent of the forest weighed heavily upon him. The leaves on the trees, the damp of the mulch beneath his paws, the prey animals scurrying from sight as night set in. Above him the full moon's light embraced him like a lover; Harry tilted his head back and howled._

_The answering cry was not far from him, and he broke into a run, his heavy limbs pounding hard against the forest floor and yet made no sound. The wind whipped through his fur, and Harry leapt over logs and ducked under branches, never stopping, never—_

 

Harry woke.

 

It took every ounce of strength he had to bite back a groan of frustration. Remus lay at his side, fast asleep with one arm draped across Harry's chest. His gentle puffs of breath warmed Harry's bare shoulder, and he looked so peaceful that Harry was loath to disturb him.

Harry shifted a little, turning to watch his partner sleep, and he smiled despite his frustration at the confusing dream. Remus looked so peaceful; a stark contrast to how he looked when he was awake these days—stressed, thoughtful, and incredibly tense.

Even after months of peace and quiet, Harry still felt uneasy. Living his life reacting to one crisis after another, he was wholly unused to things going so well. Things had been quiet—too quiet, ever since The Letter.

 

“ _I can't accept it, I won't accept it,” Remus raged, pacing back and forth before the fire while Harry looked on helplessly. “Greyback only sent that invitation because I transformed outside the moon_ once _. He only wants the strength I'd supposedly lend to his pack; he doesn't care about_ me _.”_

“ _But isn't it worth trying?” Harry asked timidly, afraid of overstepping his bounds with the conversation, and winced at the sharp glare Remus shot him. “I mean, Remus—you've always had...difficulties with accepting that side of yourself. Joining his pack may be good for you, help you better understand what you are or—or something.”_

“ _And you suddenly have a convenient_ out, _” Remus said acidly, more hurt and venom in his tone than Harry had expected. Startled, he took a small step back._

“ _What d'you mean?”_

“ _Greyback's pack does not allow human-werewolf pair bonds in,” Remus said, brandishing the letter, “If I were to join his pack, you would not be able to come with me.”_

 

The implication still made Harry's blood run cold, and he had found himself caught between wanting Remus to do something that might help him accept himself, and the agony at the thought of losing him. After all they'd been through, the thought absolutely terrified him. More than that, the clear indication that Remus feared losing Harry as much as Harry feared losing him was both sad and heartening.

Following that conversation, it had taken a long time for Harry to convince Remus that he did not want _out_ as he had put it. A year and a half ago, Harry could not fathom a life _with_ Remus—now he couldn't imagine his life without him. The permanence of the bond was the only reassurance Harry had that Remus was unlikely to take off at the drop of a hat, and both of them knew—though did not dare voice the unspoken implication—Greyback had clearly hoped that Remus would turn him. Remus's vehement refusal to accept it and leave him seemed genuine, but Harry had caught sight of him more than once pulling the letter out and reading it over, his expression pensive.

Harry glanced down as his thoughts drifted, and he caught sight of the glint of white gold on his ring finger, and smiled faintly at it.

Remus had given him the ring over Christmas, following a string of apologies as he explained that he'd intended to give it to Harry for his birthday, but it hadn't been ready in time.

 

“ _Our bond is more or less a marriage,” Remus had said sheepishly as Harry stared in wonder at the little piece of jewellery, a perfect rendering of a wolf with amber set in the eyes resting in a bed of velvet. Remus lifted his hand to, show him an identical ring, with the wolf upon it bearing emerald eyes in place of the amber. “It seemed fitting that we should have them, I meant to give them to you sooner, it just took longer than I—”_

_Harry cut off Remus's explanations with a kiss, and he felt the older man slide it onto his ring finger, the cool metal resizing to fit perfectly._

“ _It's perfect, Remus,” Harry murmured, and Remus smiled at him warmly._

 

Harry hadn't dared ask how he could have afforded such an extravagant item; it had been clear to Harry that Remus had been working on getting them for a long time, and was incredibly nervous about how Harry would receive it. It was a beautiful piece, and Harry never took it off except for field missions, when he'd transfer it to a chain around his neck and tucked under his robes for safekeeping. His reluctance to be parted from it seemed to hearten the older man, and in the weeks following his gift, Remus appeared more cheerful than he had in a _very_ long time.

 

The pattern of the breaths on Harry's shoulder changed slightly, indicating to him that Remus had begun to wake. Harry's eyes fluttered shut when he felt a trail of butterfly kisses brush the back of his neck, and a slow smile spread across his lips.

Harry rolled over and caught Remus's mouth with his own in a slow, languid kiss. The action was effective at pushing back his worries over the invitation, and as with every intimate act with his lover, the world seemed to fall away.

“Morning,” Harry murmured softly, grinning a little as Remus seemed to be still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

“Hmm,” he intoned, his hand brushing along Harry's side to rest at his hip, his callused palm tickling the sensitive skin and making Harry shiver, “perhaps it _is_ a good morning after all.”

Remus's thumb pressed into Harry's hipbone, eliciting a soft groan from him as he pressed his forehead against the centre of the man's chest as it began to sneak inward towards his (for the moment) flaccid cock.

“We better not, we've got sort of a busy day coming up,” Harry mumbled, but his words did little to deter Remus to stop his inching hand. Chuckling, Remus kissed Harry softly.

“You better not be,” Remus murmured as their lips parted, “or this might get a little awkward.” Harry snorted.

“That is a _terrible_ joke.”

  

~*~

 

Under the warm shower spray, Harry was able to calm himself down as he reflected over the events of the last months. It had been both shaky and peaceful in a strange way, tense whenever the subject of Greyback or his pack came up, but peaceful in the way that neither needed to worry about the looming threat of Red Moon, and Remus had even begun looking for work. This was impeded somewhat by the fact that despite all Kingsley's positive changes towards how werewolves were treated legally, there were still a number of professions that werewolves were barred from, making his search a little difficult.

Harry often wondered if Remus was using his employment search as an excuse to keep himself from thinking about the invitation. Harry hated how scared he felt when mention of it came up, and he often wondered that if given the choice with no negative repercussions, would Remus truly choose to stay, or would he leave to be with his own kind? Harry hated how uncertain of the answer he was, and he forced his thoughts away from it for the hundredth time in as many months.

Harry massaged the shampoo into his scalp as his thoughts strayed to the dream he'd had the night before; the latest in a long line of unsettling, recurring dreams. Harry did not like how reminiscent they were of his nighttime visions that Voldemort had beamed into his head in his teens. Regardless of how harmless the content of the dreams themselves seemed, Harry had a feeling that their presence at all was not a good thing. He'd often toyed with the idea of mentioning them to Remus, but his ever-present worry that Remus was some sort of flight-risk, he kept his mouth shut. He knew he was being selfish, but he refused to risk pushing Remus away, not after everything they'd been through. 

 

~*~

 

Harry stepped downstairs twenty minutes later, and felt his face grow warm at the unabashed way Remus's honeyed gaze raked over his body. Even after all the things they'd done that would positively traumatize Ron if he ever dared speak of it, being looked at like that was still a strange experience for him.

“And how do you propose I keep my hands off you, when you look so damnably _edible_?” Remus asked, and Harry couldn't help but bark a laugh. Remus drew him into a lazy embrace, his hands resting over his left buttocks, giving it a short squeeze as he pulled Harry in for a kiss. Harry could feel his arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach, and he let out a soft groan. It was still another week until the next full moon, and it seemed as though Remus's reaction to the phase—in particular, the sex-drive-of-a-sixteen-year-old part of it—was already in full swing. Normally, this would be a nonissue, but not when they were expected to spend the better part of the afternoon at the Burrow.

“Remus,” Harry protested feebly, pressing his hands against his chest, “I really don't fancy wandering around the Burrow all afternoon with a glamour on my crotch to hide the raging hard-on you're giving me right now.” Remus ignored the protest in favour of kissing him again.

“I'm sure there's something we can do to relieve you of that particular problem before we're due to leave,” he purred in Harry's ear, causing him to shiver with delight.

“Well, one must always start the day with a balanced, high-protein breakfast...” Harry began, and Remus's placid smile was replaced by a rather wicked grin as he dragged Harry to the waiting breakfast table. 

 

~*~

 

“Harry dear, it's so good to see you,” Molly said as she pulled him in for a motherly hug, and Harry reluctantly let go of Remus to accept it.

“Thanks Mrs—er, Molly,” he smiled at her. She looked a little more strained than usual, but that was to be expected. It wasn't every day that Ron and Hermione wanted to throw a dinner _at_ the Burrow, and the Weasley matriarch was both confused and curious about what the couple might be up to.

“Oh please dear, we're always happy to have you,” she replied warmly, though Harry did not miss the look she cast towards Remus, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything. Harry had realized that despite all the literature Ron and Hermione had offered her, as well as the shifting attitudes towards werewolves, it was still a bit of a learning curve for her. The type of magical bond he shared with Remus simply did not exist in wizarding society, and because of that it was very difficult for her to comprehend. She _was_ trying however, and Harry had to give her points for effort.

Remus had sidled off quickly to talk with Bill, who had been sitting by the fire with his daughter, who was brandishing a plush gryphon in one hand, and a bright red building block in the other. Ron and Hermione approached him as Molly stepped back, giving Harry one last long look before bustling back to the kitchen. Ron was ginning widely, and Harry had the good grace to flush slightly. It wasn't often that he showed up at the Burrow looking so well-shagged.

“Have a fun morning?” Ron asked with a short laugh as Harry stepped further inside, and Hermione huffed a little at Ron's complete lack of tact.

“I did, as a matter of fact,” Harry replied with a grin, “would you like me to tell you all about it? There may have even been _toys_ involved.” Harry barked a laugh at Ron's face going—if possible—redder than his hair. Hermione looked like she was battling between joining in with Harry's laughter, and feeling scandalized by his words.

Highly amused though he was by their reactions, he was quite keen to steer the conversation away from his sex life. He glanced down to Hermione's right hand, which _looked_ bare, but Harry knew that under a small glamour, a diamond ring lay hidden. He was almost as excited about it as they were, if nothing else to see Molly's reaction to the news. “Ready to tell them?”

“No,” both Ron and Hermione answered at the same time, and they all laughed.

“Just because mum is going to be a right terror, if Bill's wedding was any indication.”

“She just wants your big day to be special,” Harry said, unable to wipe the smile off his face, “You know, white dress, tux, all that. Normal life stuff, especially after the screwed up adolescence we had.” Harry felt a small twinge of jealousy at the pair of them; their relationship would be—and had been—celebrated, while his seemed to be under constant scrutiny. He did his best to keep his tone light, but he doubted that he'd fooled either one of them. Harry didn't want his own problems to overshadow them, especially on today of all days. They were nervous enough about announcing their engagement without Harry having to add to it.

“Screwed up is putting it mildly mate,” Ron replied with a short laugh. “At least things are finally starting to settle down, and we can get back to normal life stuff.” He shifted his glance to Remus, and Harry followed his gaze. His partner was talking softly with Bill, handing back the building blocks that Victoire chucked away as hard as she could, chuckling softly as they chatted.

“How are things going between you two anyway?” Hermione asked, her tone aiming for light, but failed miserably. Harry's gaze whipped back to her as she spoke. “I looked into the—er— _stuff_ you wanted me to research.” She said as she went a little pink, and looked back over at Remus significantly. Realizing what she meant, Harry grabbed both his friends by the arm and dragged them out of earshot.

Harry only stopped when they'd made it to the second landing of the house, and he crossed his arms as he turned to face her. “What did you find out?”

“Harry, I really think you're overreacting,” Hermione said with a frown, while Ron looked between them like a Quidditch referee. “Things have been going well since he got that invitation, haven't they?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then _why_ do you think that Remus is going to leave you?” she asked, and Harry frowned at her words as he crossed his arms. He had told both his friends what the letter had said almost at once—or rather, what Remus _said_ that it said—and he was almost embarrassed at how paranoid he had become since then. He couldn't quite explain it, but he had a feeling that there was more to it than what Remus was telling him. He didn't answer Hermione's question, and instead frowned at her.

“Just tell me what you found out, please?” Harry's gaze flicked momentarily to the stairs, his thoughts returning to Remus, and the unsettled twist in the pit of his stomach over the fact that from where they stood he couldn't see him.

“I didn't bring my notes with me,” Hermione began, her tone impatient as her eyes followed Harry's line of sight. “But there aren't a whole lot of instances of abandonment with these bonds. It's not explicit, though.” She frowned and stepped in front of Harry, blocking his view. Harry frowned at her, but she crossed her arms and did not move. “There's some stuff about it in those notes I gave you when all of this began...but, Harry, I think you're just being paranoid. Remus adores you. He _loves_ you. Just let the bond be, for once. Just...be happy.”

Harry knew that she was right. But no matter how much he reassured himself, and no matter how logically he went over it in his mind, he could not rid himself of the ever-present worry. Because of this, his time spent with Remus had increased to the point where he saw his friends less and less. While they seemed to understand where he was coming from, they didn't exactly approve of his behaviour either.

Deciding to change the subject before Hermione could launch into another lecture, he began to head back down to rejoin the festivities with his friends in tow, and as his eyes scanned the assembled crowd in the sitting room, he realized that someone was missing.

“Hey, where's Ginny?” Harry asked, and Ron snorted disdainfully as he crossed his arms. Harry blinked in confusion at the sudden reaction, “er, did I miss something?”

“She's er—seeing someone new,” Hermione said as she went a little pink, while Ron huffed again.

“Nott didn't last, then?” Harry asked with a grin, “Who is it this time, another child of a Death Eater?” Harry's laugh died in his throat when he saw the look on Ron's face. “Oh God, who is it?”

“Let me give you a hint,” Ron said with a tone as though he'd swallowed a lemon, “if he had an Animagus form, it would probably be a ferret.” Harry's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open, looking from Ron to Hermione and back again, but neither of them were laughing.

As if on cue, Harry saw Ginny step in to the sitting room from the opposite side of the space, calling a greeting to her nearby family members with a familiar blond in tow.

“I must've hit my head or something, and I'm hallucinating right now,” Harry said as he stared, while Ron huffed a little.

“Mate, _I wish,_ ” Ron grumbled while he glared at his sister, his arms crossed. Harry blinked a few times, unable to do anything but gape at his ex and his old school rival arm in arm.

“So is he dosing her with love potion, or is it the other way round?”

“Would you two _stop_?” Hermione snapped, and Harry turned to her. She was clearly far from approving of the relationship, but seemed more irritated with Harry and Ron than anything else in that moment. “Draco has been really good to her, and if your dad, who _hates_ Lucius Malfoy can accept him, why can't you?”

“Because he's a git,” Harry and Ron answered together. Hermione rolled her eyes and stalked off, going to greet Ginny and Malfoy as though there was nothing weird going on.

“Y'know, Ginny's going to kill me if I hex him,” Harry muttered while he watched as Remus broke away from Bill to shake Malfoy's hand, and fingered his wand that had been tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He felt a stab of irrational jealousy in the pit of his stomach at the sight of it, but Harry forced himself to keep still.

“I can distract her if you want to get it out of your system, but she'll probably notice if you make his nose fall off or something.”

“I'll call it The _Voldemort_ look,” Harry said with a grin as Ron snorted. His smile fell, huffed a sigh, and straightened up while he crammed his hands into his pockets. “Well, I better get this over with,” he muttered while Ron grunted his agreement, and fell in step with Harry as they made their way across the room.

“Harry!” Ginny smiled brightly when she saw him, while Malfoy appeared to be struggling to bite back a scathing remark. She let go of her new boyfriend and hurried over to give him a hug, “Sorry we weren't here earlier, the practice ran late,” she pulled back with an apologetic smile, while her eyes flitted nervously between Malfoy and Harry. Harry could not shake the distinct oddness at seeing Draco Malfoy hand in hand with Ginny, moreover standing in a sea of redheads. It was like some sort of bizarre, extremely vivid dream.

Determined to keep things civil for Ginny's sake, he extended his hand to the blond.

“Malfoy,” Harry said with a nod.

Malfoy's mouth stretched into an amused smirk as he stared for a moment at Harry's outstretched hand, then reached out to grasp it.

“Potter,” he replied with a chuckle, “it only took you _eleven_ years to shake my hand.” Harry mirrored his smirk.

“Well, it only took you _eleven_ years to make friends with the _right_ sort,” Harry replied in a perfect imitation of the Slytherin at age eleven. Malfoy's mouth twitched into something that was less of a smirk and closer to a genuine smile as he caught Harry's meaning. He let go of his hand, and at once Ginny took it, looking between them with the same look of _don't-you-dare-start-anything_. “How'd you two meet, anyway?”

“Quidditch match,” Ginny said with a shrug and a faint smile—clearly it was a good memory for her. Harry was still having a hard time processing the _Ginny is seeing Malfoy_ thing, despite the physical evidence that stood before him. “I was in the top box with the others after a match, and Draco was there with a few other Ministry officials. He asked me to join him for a drink, and things sort of went from there.” She smiled, while Malfoy maintained his cool aloof demeanour, though if Harry wasn't mistaken, there was a softening of his features as Ginny recalled their first meeting.

“So I see,” Harry replied as he eyed Malfoy dubiously through Ginny's recollection as he struggled to get past his initial shock at seeing them together. Of course, it had little to do with his affiliations during the war—Harry wasn't so thick as to realize that that hadn't exactly been his fault—and more to do with Malfoy spending their entire schooling career belittling and insulting the entire Weasley clan. That fact alone made it extremely strange to see him surrounded by Weasleys without being hexed. Ginny watched the pair worriedly, her arm tucked into her robes where Harry knew her wand was hidden.

“Ginny, Hermione!” The group's heads all swivelled towards Molly, who was standing by entryway to the sitting room. “Would you two come and help me please?” Hermione huffed and Ginny rolled her eyes, giving Malfoy one meaningful glance before she slipped off towards her mother. Harry watched Malfoy watch her, but didn't know what to make of the expression he saw in those normally cold grey eyes. Could it be affection? Harry shook his head a little to rid himself of the bizarre thought. He waited until both girls had disappeared into the kitchen before he spoke again.

“Malfoy,” Harry said, and Malfoy's steel gaze refocused on him as he spoke his surname, and the familiar detached expression was back in place upon his face. “Just know that if you ever hurt her, I will hunt you down and kill you.” Harry smiled and spoke in a level, polite tone, as though he was discussing nothing more serious than the weather.

“Duly noted, Potter,” Draco drawled, “however, I believe you would be relieved of that particular task, given that she is more than capable of exacting her own revenge.” Malfoy spoke in his usual cold tone, though Harry was certain that there was an air of confidence in his voice. Harry stared, shocked into silence by the statement. He was relieved of the burden of coming up with a decent comeback as Malfoy abruptly switched topics.

“It's true, then?” He asked as he nodded his head in Remus's direction, “Of course, Ginny told me all about it, but I have a hard time believing it.”

“It's true, all right,” Harry replied as he glanced towards Remus who had been not-so-subtly watching him over Bill's shoulder. He caught the older man's eye, and he grinned. He turned back to Malfoy, who looked a little shocked at the exchange. The look on his face gave Harry a deep sense of satisfaction, and he struggled with the urge to torment him further with intimate details that would likely send him howling to the Obliviators at the Ministry. Ron's presence at his side and the fact that Remus would _not_ be pleased with Harry sharing such intimate details of their love life were the only things that held him back.

“I dunno,” Harry continued after a moment, “it was an accident—at first, I mean—but now...” He smiled a little wistfully, and bit his bottom lip as his mind went back to their morning, “it was a nice accident.”

“I—I see...” Malfoy still looked a little unnerved at Ginny's story being validated, as though he had thought she had been having him on. Molly poked her head into the sitting room again, relieving Harry and Malfoy from continuing their painfully awkward conversation.

“Come along, everyone,” she called, “while it's still hot!” Malfoy seemed relieved for an excuse to end their tense, awkward conversation, and hurried out to the kitchen with the others.

At the promise of food Ron took off ahead of him, while Harry trailed behind, amused at Malfoy's hasty escape. A sudden hand at the small of his back stilled his movements, and he paused to grin up at his partner.

“Behaving yourself?” Remus asked, falling in step with him as they headed to the kitchen, which had been magically enlarged to fit all thirteen dinner guests. No one passed the sight of them together a second glance anymore, and even Molly had grown more or less used to seeing them together. Malfoy, however, had not, and seemed incapable of not staring at them, his mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“Don't I always?” Harry asked with a grin, and Remus snorted.

“Do you _really_ want me to answer that?” he asked and Harry barked a laugh at the question. He sat down with Remus on his left, and Ron on his right, and under the table, Harry slipped his hand into Remus's and gave it a small squeeze.

“Probably not,” Harry answered with another grin. He squeezed his hand once more and moved to begin serving himself. Harry caught the lurch in Remus's movements, and had to struggle to hide his smile. The knee-jerk reaction of the bond making Remus want to take care of Harry was endearing at the best of times, but in the presence of his surrogate family—and Hermione in particular—it wasn't a spectacular idea. Harry was not unused to the push of Remus wanting to serve Harry his portions for him, but he was aware of how strange it must look to an outsider. It wasn't a common occurrence, but with the coming moon and Malfoy's nearby unfamiliar scent to Remus's wolf, it made things complicated.

After helping himself to all of his favourite things, he shifted to rest a reassuring hand on the older man's thigh, and he felt some of the tension between them melt away. Harry bounced between talking with his friends and sharing a few silent moments with Remus, which, it transpired, wasn't a brilliant idea as it left him wanting to do _much_ more with his partner than just talk.

As the meal wound down and it was replaced with coffee and chocolate torte, Hermione and Ron stood up, both of them looking absolutely terrified. Grinning, Harry turned to watch.

“Um, everyone? Could we have your attention please?” Hermione asked, her voice carried a squeak of nervousness as she spoke, and slowly the lull of conversation died down as all head turned towards the pair. Harry and Remus exchanged a knowing smile as they waited for the couple to announce their big news.

“Um, we asked you all here today because we have an announcement to make, and we thought a dinner would be the best way to tell you all,” Hermione said, then fell silent as she went a little pink. Ron took over and reached for her left hand, and tapped it once with his wand to remove the glamour.

“We're engaged,” Ron said as he showed the assembled family the ring that glinted on Hermione's third finger.

The reaction was instantaneous. Molly let out a cry of joy as her eyes filled with tears and clapped her hands to her mouth, and all others clapped and cheered.

“Oh, oh what a surprise!” Molly wept as she jumped up and hurried around the table to hug the pair. “Oh _Ronnie..._ I'm so proud of you! And Hermione, of course we're so happy that you'll be part of the family...officially!”

Everyone got up in turn to congratulate them while Harry and Remus hung back and watched. Harry was happy for them—it was about time, as far as he was concerned—but he couldn't help the small twinge of jealousy as he watched their relationship so celebrated in contrast to how most viewed his and Remus's.

Harry felt Remus's lips brush his temple and he looked up, a question in his eyes.

“Don't let it get to you,” He murmured, snaking an arm around Harry's waist to squeeze him gently and reassuringly. “Our relationship is unconventional, to put it mildly. It's something of a given that theirs would be more embraced than ours. It's not fair, I know, it's just how it is.”

“I know,” Harry murmured back, softly enough that the others wouldn't overhear, “It's just frustrating, is all.”

Harry felt some of his frustration leave him as Remus pressed another kiss to the top of his head. He managed to get a handle on his emotions just as Ginny walked over to them and swatted his arm.

“You tit. You knew, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?” She demanded, but the laughter in her tone told Harry that she wasn't actually angry.

“They told me last week,” Harry replied with a short laugh as he rubbed at his arm where she'd hit him. “Hermione would've killed me if I let her and Ron's big news slip early.”

“Don't tell me you're afraid of Granger, Potter,” Malfoy sneered as he stepped up to stand at Ginny's side. Even after seeing them together all afternoon, Harry still found it incredibly weird to see. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be _brave_.”

“As someone who's been on the receiving end of Hermione's wrath, I thought you'd know better than to take her lightly,” Harry replied, laughing as Malfoy went a little pink.

Laughing a little, Harry pushed back his own hurt at the stark contrast of acceptance between his and Remus's relationship and Ron and Hermione's, and forced a smile as he took his turn congratulating them.

“Good on you mate,” Harry said, pulling Ron in for a hug, then did the same for Hermione. “You guys did great.”

“Thanks Harry,” Hermione said, her eyes sparking a little with unbridled joy.

“Now we just need to duel to find out who gets you on our big day, so which will it be, Harry? Best Man or Man of Honour?” Ron asked, and Harry snorted.

“Oh don't be silly Ron,” Hermione said with a laugh, and Harry grinned at them. “I could take you wandless and you know it.”

Ron appeared caught between taking offence and amusement as Harry and Hermione laughed at his expense, and instead settled on smiling sheepishly.

 

All the physical contact seemed to be wearing on Remus's instincts, and it reached its peak by early evening. Upon stepping from the loo, Harry was startled slightly to find Remus standing there, and he covertly dragged Harry off to the next landing.

Harry grunted as Remus pinned him to the wall and devoured his mouth with a soft growl. Despite his initial surprise, Harry was all too happy to return the domineering kiss.

“You know as far as hiding spots go, this isn't a spectacular one,” Harry panted, tilting his head up as Remus trailed wet kisses along his jaw and down his throat. Harry reached up to rest a hand on the back of the older man's neck; despite his concerns, he wasn't ready to stop yet.

“Well I would have suggested the orchard, but that didn't work out so well for us last time,” Remus murmured against his skin, and Harry snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, _that_ would be an understatement...” Harry mumbled, hissing a little as Remus's hand snaked under the front of his jumper and tickled the flesh of his abdomen.

Remus descended upon him, intent on capturing Harry's mouth in another kiss when he heard a soft sound of surprise coming from the stairwell they'd just taken. They turned at once to see Malfoy standing there looking rather uncomfortable and _very_ red.

“A _ha!”_ Ginny thundered up and stopped next to Malfoy with a grin, then feigning ignorance to the awkwardness between the three men she turned and cupped her hands around her mouth, “Muuuum! Found them!”

With a defeated sigh, Remus retracted his hand from under Harry's jumper, took his hand and they headed back downstairs. Ginny fell in step alongside him, and Harry leaned in close enough to mutter to her, “You'll pay for this,” to which she grinned wickedly but didn't answer.

It was clearly no secret what they'd been up to, if the looks on everyone's faces were any indication, and only Ron and Ginny seemed to be unbothered by their not-so-covert rendezvous.

The babble of talk quickly broke out again, but it was strained and almost everyone seemed unable to meet Harry's eyes. Harry grimaced, and caught Ginny's arm before she could leave.

“I think we better go,” he said softly to her, pulling her aside as returned to clustering around Ron and Hermione, offering them congratulations and unsolicited advice on the _when, where,_ and _how_ of their big day. “Say goodbye to the others for me?”

“'Course,” she replied with a smile, and pulled Harry into a tight hug. “Don't let them get to you Harry,” she said softly as she pulled back, “I know it's hard, but those that can't accept your relationship weren't your friends to begin with.”

Much to Harry's surprise, after Ginny let him go she turned to Remus and hugged him too. She whispered something in his ear that caused him to smile and nod, squeezing her shoulder once after she'd pulled back. Remus took Harry's hand in his, brushing his thumb reassuringly across the back of it, and with one last smile to Ginny, they slipped out of the house and off the property, then Apparated home.


	2. Somnambulist

Chapter Two – Somnambulist

 

They arrived home with Harry's mind still stuck on the looks the Weasleys—his _family_ had directed at him throughout the day, save for Ginny, Ron, and (at last) Hermione.

Remus opened the door and ushered Harry inside, and he blindly followed his partner's lead to the sitting room, who forced him down onto the sofa and pressed a hot cup of tea into his hands.

Harry stared down into the cup's contents, but merely saw his face—his miserable face—reflected back at him. Their disapproving looks towards his relationship with Remus had never bothered him so much before. Why now?

A gentle hand on his thigh drew Harry from his morose thoughts, and he looked up at Remus with a frown. He continued to clutch onto the tea he'd been given, but he didn't drink it.

“I know it's hard Harry,” Remus said softly, moving his hand to card through Harry's thick hair, “I have had a lifetime to grow used to rejection of this kind. By association, you are now experiencing it too. I wish I could say something to reassure you, but you _mustn't_ let it get to you. They will come around in their own time, or they will not.”

“That's what Ginny said,” Harry muttered, looking down from Remus and back to his cup. “It's hard though. They're my family, I wish they could...” he trailed off and sighed heavily.

“You want recognition of our relationship, like what Ron and Hermione received at the announcement of their engagement,” Remus said, and Harry nodded silently.

“I just...I hate that every little thing we do together is looked at under a fucking microscope,” Harry said, quickly putting the cup on the coffee table when his hands began to shake. “It's not fair. It's not like...like a normal marriage, we have different rules to play by. Why can't they understand that?”

“Ignorance, unwillingness to learn—our age gap likely plays a part as well,” Remus said patiently. This wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion, and it likely wouldn't be the last. The older man's hand moved from his hair to his cheek, and he gently coaxed Harry's gaze back up to him, and he brushed his lips over Harry's. His eyes slid shut as he returned the kiss, Harry's arms reaching up to wrap around Remus's neck.

“I love you,” Harry murmured, “why can't they see that?” To Harry's question, Remus smiled sadly.

“Most likely because they don't want to.”

Harry had no idea what to say to that, and instead chose to settle into Remus's embrace, and they sat in contemplative silence until Harry wandered up to bed, with Remus following suit not long after.

 

— _Harry halted at the side of a babbling brook, and howled. The responding wolf was close, he could sense it; feel it in his very bones. Harry backed up several paces and leapt over the narrow body of water, landing heavily on the other side before breaking into a run again._

_He needn't search long for his companion. A larger wolf than he, one with amber eyes and tawny fur appeared out of the shadows and stepped directly into his path. Harry slowed to a halt and approached the larger creature, bumping his head against the creature's chin affectionately as Harry greeted his dominant mate._

_Moony growled his approval, nudging his submissive gently, and Harry willingly tumbled onto his back and exposed his throat and belly to him. Moony's jaws closed briefly over Harry's throat; his bite not even hard enough to bruise before he released him, and allowed Harry to get up before he nudged him hard towards the depths of—_

 

“Harry.”

A voice cut across the dream, and the forest dissolved as Harry was dragged back to the waking world.

“Are you awake?” Remus asked softly. His fingertips were trailing up and down Harry's side, starting at his hip, snaking up and across his ribs to stop just below his armpit, then back down again. Harry stretched, but when his eyes flickered open he was surprised to see that it was still dark outside.

“I am now,” he mumbled groggily, turning his head a little to face his partner. “Everything okay?” Harry reached blindly for his glasses on the night table, and pulled them on. Remus came into focus, and Harry felt his heart jump in his throat at the troubled look he saw upon his face.

“I...” Remus began, and trailed off. Harry swallowed nervously, but did not interrupt as he waited for him to speak. The hand moved to the back of Harry's neck, caressing his nape gently, as though he wanted to commit each curve and line of Harry's body to memory.

“I've just been thinking about things,” Remus said, and Harry tensed a little before he had the good sense to stop himself. It did not take a genius to work out that by _things_ Remus meant the invitation. Despite his outright refusal when he'd first gotten it, all signs pointed towards the fact that it still weighed heavily upon his mind.

Remus wrapped both arms around Harry's middle and pulled him close, while he buried his face in the hollow of Harry's throat and inhaled deeply, and Harry shivered a little under the sensation. He'd grown used to it, but there was still a distinct strangeness in someone finding such comfort in something as simple as _scent_.

“I'm not going to leave you, Harry,” Remus's whisper was hoarse, but forceful, “I _won't_ leave you.”

“I know you aren't Remus,” Harry said softly, his voice still a little groggy from his abrupt waking. He shifted a little and kissed him gently. Despite his words, Harry was doubtful of his sentiment, though he couldn't completely articulate _why._ The absolute anguish he saw on Remus's face was enough to tell him that he was still painfully torn by the temptation to accept the invitation, and Harry hated himself for wishing that Remus would just forget about it.

Remus wouldn't leave him, Harry reasoned as the older man clutched tightly to him; Remus _couldn't_ leave him. The bond wouldn't permit him to; he was just being paranoid, it was nothing more.

Harry wished that he could believe it.

 

~*~

  

The passing weeks were tense, though neither Harry nor Remus were keen to discuss _why_. It was clear after their awkward half-conversation the night following Hermione and Ron's announcement that the invitation was still tempting Remus.

Harry was still convinced that something terrible was about to happen, though he could figure out if it was related to his bizarre dreams, or his ever-present fear that Remus was going to leave him. At the same time, Remus seemed to be doing everything in his power to _not_ think about the invitation. Harry had never even been shown what the letter itself had said, and somehow it felt wrong to ask Remus to see it—like an invasion of privacy. Remus had never shown much interest in associating with his own kind more than he had to, but clearly something in the letter had changed his mind.

 

Harry's weekends were spent with Remus and his friends alternately, and his weekdays back to work. He was doing what he could to help Remus find work, and as a result it had given him little opportunity to sit down and ponder _what_ exactly could have caused Remus's panicked reaction to the letter. Was it a threat? A bribe? Some sort of werewolf ultimatum, 'Join us or else'? As with every other time the thought had fluttered to the surface of his mind, he felt a thrill of panic rush through him.

Harry was determined to not let his own feelings sway Remus's decision one way or the other. More than once, he had been close to breaking down and begging him to reject the invitation outright and just _stay_ , but he couldn't bring himself to be so selfish. It left both men feeling anxious and miserable, and almost every night they tried to mend their problems with sex.

 

Tonight was no different, and Remus took him to bed in a blind haze of arousal, unaided by the moon as he prepared and took Harry, their mutual grunts of pleasure filling the silence. As Remus began to approach orgasm however, something changed.

Teeth.

Harry's breath hitched as Remus's teeth sunk into the flesh of his shoulder, not quite hard enough to break the skin, but almost. It was not a quick bite, but drawn out as he raked his teeth across the spot, as though determined to ensure that it would bruise. Harry let out a small yelp of pain as Remus's hot seed filled him, and the pain eclipsed the pleasure so much that Harry's erection died without ever finding his own release.

“Harry?” Remus asked, his voice heavy and dazed. “What—” he broke off suddenly and Harry flinched and hissed in pain as his fingers brushed over the raised patch of skin. “Oh, God, did I do that?” The absolute anguish and confusion in his voice told Harry that he was likely _not_ joking around, and seemed genuinely disturbed to have done such a thing. He pulled Harry close, and brushed a kiss to the skin close to, but not upon it.

“I'm so sorry Harry,” Remus whispered in a broken tone of voice, “I didn't—I had no idea I was doing that, I'm so sorry...” His words dissolved into nonsensical mutters, and Harry turned over to face him, and pulled Remus into his arms. He held him quietly, utterly at a loss for how to console his partner. Remus clutched at him until he fell asleep, and Harry shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that would not aggravate the injury.

 _What just happened?_ Harry wondered while he stared through the darkness of their room to the glowing bedroom window. He was used to love bites, but this went well beyond anything Remus had ever done to him before. Something had changed, and Harry felt at a loss for how to figure out exactly _what_ had caused such a strange and painful reaction. He rested his chin against the top of Remus's head, his mind momentarily eased by the scent and presence of his partner, and slowly he fell asleep.

 _Perhaps,_ Harry thought as he drifted off, _it was just a fluke werewolf thing. I doubt that it'll happen again._

 

Two weeks later, Harry found himself seated in _Café Noisette,_ nursing a cup of black coffee and picking at a croissant while watched the door intently. Harry had only just begun to relax when a rather harassed-looking Hermione Granger stepped inside, nodded to Harry once and hurried to the counter. She joined him a moment later with some sort of chocolate and whipped cream monstrosity that at one time _could_ have been a coffee, and an obscenely large muffin.

“Now Harry, what is this about? You said in your letter that something was going on between you and Remus, but you couldn't talk to him about it?” She looked both worried and annoyed at once, not that Harry could blame her. Her schedule was likely loaded to the breaking point already, but there was only so much he could discuss with Ron about him and Remus before he would start to get uncomfortable when Harry needed to go into detail. Hermione was at least a little more well-versed in the bond from the research she had done on his behalf, and was better equipped to regard Harry's personal life through a clinical, academic eye.

Harry sipped his coffee to delay answering as he tried to work out how to say what he needed to say. In the end, he decided that show and tell might be the best course of action. He cast a quick glance around the near-dead cafe, turned in his seat and bent his arm around his back to pull down the collar of his T-shirt to show her the nape of his neck and shoulders, which he knew displayed a number of teeth marks in varying shades of red and purple. He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath and he allowed the shirt to snap back into place and he turned back to face her. She was very white, and her eyes were wide with shock and fright. _“Oh Harry. Remus_ did that to you?”

“I don't think he meant to,” Harry murmured with a frown, not wanting to misspeak and give her the wrong idea. “Whenever he did it, right after he reacted as though he had no idea where the marks came from. I just...I don't know what it means.” Harry paused to sip his coffee before he continued, “and there's other, er, _stuff_ too, but I don't know if it's connected or not.”

“What other stuff?” She asked. Hermione's eyes were still very wide, and her voice was barely above a frightened whisper. Harry hesitated for a moment, and looked away from her to cram the croissant into his mouth, taking an overlarge bite as he thought how to answer.

“I've been having these dreams...Almost every night,” Harry said after he swallowed, “It's like...It feels like those dreams I had when Voldemort was in my mind, but they...I dunno, they don't feel _evil_.” Harry breathed slowly as the familiar panic he'd been privy to so often of late began to bubble to the surface of his mind. What if they _were_ evil? He hadn't needed Occlumency for ages, would he still be able to do it, if he needed to? He shook himself out of the train of thought; now wasn't the time to worry about that, at least not yet.

“What are they about?” Hermione asked, aiming for nonchalant as she sipped her drink, but her wide, frightened eyes ruined the attempt rather spectacularly.

“It's weird. They're about, well, me and Remus. Out in a forest on a full moon...” Harry hesitated for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously, “and we're both werewolves.” Harry looked up at Hermione, but her expression was still unnervingly blank. “I know it could be just that—dreams, but, I dunno. They don't _feel_ like they're just dreams. I just wish I knew what they _meant._ ”

“How long have you been having them?” Hermione asked, and Harry was amazed at the remarkable calm of her voice, though her eyes told a different story; it was clear she was just as alarmed by this as he was.

“For a few months, I can't really remember when they started,” Harry said, dropping his gaze from his friend to stare into his cup. “At first, I just figured it was a normal dream. But when I started having them almost nightly, I started to get a little worried.” Harry swallowed, his hold on the cup tightening slightly. “I'm...I'm afraid to talk to Remus about it. Things have been weird since your announcement, and I'm worried that if I tell him about this he'll panic and do something drastic like take off.” Harry felt a familiar burning behind his eyes, and he quickly busied himself with his cup to hide it.

“It could be connected,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “you of all people would know the difference between a normal dream and a dream that might be prophetic. I'll try to look into it, but, Harry, I really do think you should talk to Remus about this. It's not healthy to let things...y'know, fester.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled as he sighed heavily. He bit back the question he wanted to blurt out, but he knew that Hermione would likely respond with patient reassurance—or impatient frustration—if he asked her again, _What if he leaves me?_ Harry wished he could articulate why the worry was always so close to the surface of his mind of late; he'd never been this paranoid with Ginny or Cho. He couldn't understand why with Remus everything was always so _different_.

“I'll...I'll try,” he said at last, and Hermione smiled at him warmly.

  

~*~

  

Harry stepped inside that evening feeling no more confident about talking with Remus than he had when Hermione had pressed him to. He still couldn't quite explain his reluctance; they were only _dreams_ after all, they were definitely not visions, of that Harry was certain.

 _At least, I hope they're not,_ Harry thought as he pulled his cloak off and hung it up.

Harry was so wrapped up in his troubled thoughts that it took him a moment to realize that something was _different,_ though at first he couldn't place exactly what it was. He turned his back on the cloak hanger and wandered through the main level, realizing with a jolt in his stomach that Remus was nowhere to be found.

 _Oh God, oh God..._ Harry thought in a panic, skidding to a halt in the kitchen when he caught sight of a piece of parchment on the scrubbed table with his name hastily scrawled across it.

 

_Harry,_

_Job interview, be back soon._

_x_

 

Harry let out a breath as he relaxed, and smiled at the little paper. He folded it up and tucked it into his pocket, deciding that for now at least he would hold off telling Remus about the dreams. He deserved a normal life as much as Harry did, especially after the insanity they'd been through together over the last year and a half.

He made himself a tea, and brought it with him to the back porch, where Harry watched the sun's slow descent towards the west while he sipped on the drink. If Remus was at a job interview, clearly he was serious about staying and not disappearing with Greyback, and Harry felt some of his paranoia leave him while he wondered idly what the job interview might be for.

 

It was a little past twilight by the time Remus returned, wearing his best robes (albeit a little ashen from the Floo trip) and a broad smile on his face.

“You did it,” Harry said at once with a grin, standing up from his spot on the sofa.

“I did,” Remus replied, practically glowing with happiness.

Harry all but threw himself at the older man in a hard kiss. Remus's arm immediately wrapped around Harry's waist to hold him for a moment longer, before Harry pulled back a little, but stayed in the embrace.

“I'm so proud of you Remus,” Harry said, “tell me, what's the job? Your note didn't say.”

Harry turned and ushered him further inside while Remus dispelled the ash from his robes, and sat across from Harry on the sofa. He lifted his wand, but Harry held up his hand to stop him.

“Hang on, we need something a little more celebratory,” Harry said, and with a flick of his wand he summoned a bottle of wine and two glasses.

As Harry released the cork and set the bottle down to breathe, he heard Remus chuckle with amusement at him.

“Harry this really isn't necessary...” he began, but Harry was quick to cut him off.

“Shut up, yes it is,” Harry said with a grin, “and I'm gonna thrust celebration upon you if I have to.”

“Aren't I the one normally doing the thrusting?” Remus asked mildly, arching a brow, and Harry snorted.

“I walked right into that one, didn't I?”

“A bit, yeah.”

Still grinning a little, Harry poured out the wine and handed Remus a glass.

“Now tell me, what's the job?” Harry prompted, easing back into the sofa while Remus took a sip of the proffered wine, and mirrored Harry's stature, while he reached out to rest a hand on the top of Harry's thigh casually.

“I was offered a position in the new Werewolf Liaisons Department,” Remus said, his eyes straying from Harry to the glass in his hand, and twirled it absently with a thoughtful look on his face. Harry blinked in confusion at the sudden departure from his joy at acquiring the job to a strange, gentle calm.

“You don't seem exactly thrilled about it,” Harry observed as he moved a little closer to him.

“I am,” Remus replied, shifting his gaze from his wine and back to Harry, “it's nice to feel as though you're part of the world again and not...detached from it. I just wonder if the only attribute that they care for is the fact that I _am_ a werewolf.”

Harry did not speak for a moment, but merely looked up at Remus with a sad smile. He reached out and brushed his fingers over Remus's cheek, enjoying the way his sparse stubble tickled his fingers, then leant in for a gentle kiss.

“You're _brilliant_ , Remus,” Harry said, “I'm sure having an...erm, _insider's perspective_ definitely helped, but you're selling yourself short. You're one of the most well-read, intelligent people I know. You earned this just like anyone else.”

Remus abandoned his wine in favour of kissing Harry, and Harry was all too happy to oblige him.

Harry would have liked to continue. The way Remus shifted to bear down on him was thrilling, but his stomach—of all things—sought to interrupt them when it suddenly filled the silence with a rather loud gurgle, and Harry turned very red.

“Hungry are we?” Remus murmured, tickling Harry's damp mouth with his breath.

“I was waiting for you to come home before I ate,” Harry mumbled, looking away as he tried to reign in his blush, but it did little to help.

“Let's eat, then we can celebrate properly,” Remus said with one of his usual placid smiles. He helped Harry to his feet and wrapped an arm around his waist as he escorted Harry to the dining room, flicking his wand to make the wine and glasses follow them out.

  

~*~

  

After Remus had changed his clothes and sat down with Harry to eat, both he and Harry made no secret about what they'd rather be doing at that moment. Harry extended his leg to hook his foot around Remus's ankle, picking at, rather than eating the stew in front of him. Remus's eyes seemed to glow with his lust as he looked up at Harry with a soft, amused chuckle, but did nothing more than watch Harry like prey. He forced his gaze from Remus to the wide, shallow bowl in front of him, and forced himself to eat.

Over individual bowls of sorbet, Harry caught sight of a mischievous glint in Remus's eye, and he abandoned the partially-eaten treat to stand and grin at his partner.

“We had the wine already, I think now we should celebrate properly... _awk!_ ”

Before Harry knew what was happening, Remus circled the table and scooped him up bridal-style before he could stop him, and in a panic Harry quickly wrapped his arms around Remus's neck.

“Remus, _put me down!”_ Harry yelled, while with a wicked grin that Harry was certain Remus had learned from his godfather, he ignored Harry's protests and instead carried him upstairs.

Harry clung tightly to his partner, very much not liking the way he bounced and jostled in his arms, but afraid to squirm too much and cause Remus to drop him. Once they reached their room, Remus dropped Harry gracelessly onto the bed. Harry sat up with a glare, though the corner of his mouth was twitching a little as he tried to stifle a smile.

“When are you gonna get it through your thick skull that I _don't_ like it when you carry me like that?” he demanded.

Remus ignored the question, and instead crawled onto the bed, boxing Harry in with his arms while he kissed him deeply.

“As I recall, that's the first time I ever carried you like that...” Remus replied in a low murmur as he grinned, while Harry swatted his chest lightly.

“You know what I mean. It freaks me out; I like my brains in my head, not splattered across the entryway.”

“I wouldn't drop you, you know,” Remus said in the same bland tone for what was likely the hundredth time. He moved one of his hands from the bedspread to slip under Harry's shirt and peeled it away from his abdomen slowly, while he continued to grin at Harry's clear annoyance.

“Famous last words,” Harry muttered as he lifted his arms over his head to aid Remus in ridding himself of the obstructive garment. “If you do it again I swear I'll hex you.” Harry reached out and began to thumb open the buttons on Remus's thin, chocolate brown shirt as he spoke, and the older man merely smiled in response.

“Would you, though?” Remus asked as he cocked a brow. He rotated his shoulders as he shrugged out of the shirt, and his lips descended upon the hollow of Harry's throat and he dragged his tongue down to his sternum and across to his clavicle, eliciting a soft gasp from the younger man.

“If you knock it off and stop carrying me places, you won't have to find out,” Harry mumbled, and tilted his head back as Remus's mouth turned its attentions to his right nipple. “And I know some pretty effective ones from working with the Aurors...”

“I'm sure you do, but _I used an Unforgivable Curse on my lover because he wouldn't stop carrying me to bed_ probably wouldn't hold up in a Wizengamot trial,” Remus quipped, pausing his ministrations on Harry momentarily to voice the comment. Harry snorted, but the vocalization shifted quickly to a moan as Remus's talented hands trailed down his front and towards the buttons at the top of his jeans.

“Who said anything about Unforgivables?” Harry asked, his voice taking on a rather breathy quality as he arched his hips into Remus's hands. “There's was this one curse this woman was using on her husband to keep him in line, where she cursed his bits off and kept them in a jam jar until he did what she wanted... _oh._ ” Harry's breath hitched as the heel of Remus's hand pressed into his clothed half-hard cock, effectively turning his brain to jelly.

“Somehow I doubt you'd be able to hold out long enough to follow through with _that_ threat.”

“Speak for yourself,” Harry said with a snort, and grinned up at his partner. “A virile young man and a werewolf together...It's amazing we manage to leave the bedroom long enough to carry on with our normal lives.” Harry hissed sharply, his head tilting back into the duvet as Remus's hand slipped past the elastic of his pants and closed around Harry's half-hard cock.

Harry fell back bonelessly onto the bed, his arms splayed at his sides in a lazy spread-eagle position, his breath coming out in shallow gasps as his eyes slid shut. He heard the low rumble of a chuckle from Remus somewhere above him, while he worked Harry's jeans and pants off one-handed, the other still securely coiled around his cock. He let Harry go abruptly, and Harry jerked his hips feebly with a pleading whimper, but the vocalization was met only with an amused chuckle.

Harry heard a distinct rustle above him, and he opened his eyes to see Remus wiggling out of his tan corduroys, his erection jutting out prominently from his body. The sight of it drew Harry's gaze, and he felt his mouth pull into a grin. Remus smirked in a very non-Remus sort of way, and crawled up to join Harry on the bed. He reached out to relieve Harry of his glasses and set them aside, then braced his hands on either side of Harry's head as he leaned in for a demanding kiss.

Moaning feebly, Harry arched his back a little and draped his arms around Remus's shoulders lazily while he parted his lips, and at once Remus's tongue sought out his. They tangled together into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, while Remus balanced on one hand, the other trailing down Harry's chest and towards his groin.

Remus stopped just short of the dark thatch of hairs that preceded Harry's weeping cock, and he groaned in protest. Remus broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against Harry's, his fingers idly threading through the dark body hair while he regarded his partner.

“Would you protest to skipping the theatrics tonight?” Remus asked, his tone husky, and Harry smirked.

“When have I _ever_ complained about going to bed with you?” He asked, and Remus smiled as he rested a hand on Harry's hip at his words, gently coaxing him onto his stomach. Harry complied easily, pillowing his head upon his arms as he lifted his arse into the air invitingly. Harry smiled at the soft sound of Remus's amused chuckle above him, and shivered a moment later when he felt cool, slick fingers trace the cleft of his arse. Even after so many months together, Harry was still amazed how at one time this very act had instilled nothing short of terror in him, and now he could hardly get enough of it. Harry chewed on his bottom lip, and buried his face in his upper arm as the two fingers slid into him, and he groaned softly.

Remus took his time preparing Harry, moving his fingers in and out of him with smooth, steady strokes, while scissoring them with every alternate thrust. Each motion brought another moan from Harry, his fingers twisting in the fabric of the duvet as he breathed shallowly and sweat dotted his forehead. At long last, Remus removed his fingers from Harry and lined himself up with his hole, and slid in smoothly.

Harry groaned and pressed back into his partner as they moulded together, Remus's front at Harry's back. His eyes were screwed shut as Remus moved to press his forehead into Harry's shoulder blade, and a soft groan escaped him as he froze his movements to give Harry a moment to acclimate to his size. His mouth so close to Harry's nape and shoulder blades made him tense momentarily, expecting another strange bite, but Remus did not seem to be aware of the physical reaction.

Slowly Remus began to move, hot breaths ghosting against the flesh of Harry's back while Harry responded in kind; sharp gasps escaping him with every thrust, while he moved in time with his partner. Remus curled forward and sank his teeth into back of Harry's shoulder as he'd done so many times in the recent past. Harry reared his head back in pain; and while the bite once more did not break the skin, it was still as alarming as it had been the first time it happened. Remus's teeth raked across his flesh, from its spot and down across Harry's shoulder blade, leaving angry red welts in their wake. Pained tears stung the corners of his eyes as he drew in a shuddering breath, but Remus seemed to be too lost in the haze of sensation to notice it.

The speed of Remus's thrusts picked up, and Harry's hand moved instinctively to his own cock. He jerked himself in time with Remus's erratic movements, until with a chorus of blissful groans escaped the pair and they came, one after the other.

Breathing deeply, Remus slumped lightly against Harry's back, stopping just short of his full weight collapsing on top of him. He wrapped an arm loosely around Harry's waist as he rolled onto his side, dragging Harry with him. Harry settled into the embrace, and he felt his stomach knot as he heard Remus hiss a soft curse, clearly catching sight of the new injury. Harry flinched when his fingers brushed over it, and the arm around him tensed slightly.

“I'm so sorry Harry,” he whispered sadly, his voice thick with fatigue, “I don't know why I keep doing this to you...so sorry...” Despite Remus's regret at his actions, sleep was quick to take him, and Harry curled himself more securely into his lover's arms, his now-familiar feeling of impending doom washing over him like a tidal wave.

Despite his desperate wishes that he was worrying over nothing, Harry was certain that whatever this was, it was only the beginning. He rolled over and burrowed himself into Remus's arms, and prayed that he was wrong.


	3. Giving Up, Giving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Because I have to be a grownup on Tuesday, you guys get an early chapter. Enjoy and I'll see you guys next Tuesday! :)

Chapter 3 – Giving Up, Giving In

 

Hermione had promised to look into the problem for Harry, but with the next full moon closing in, Harry began to feel his panic threatening to engulf him again. Though he had assured her that he'd talk to Remus about everything, Harry's Gryffindor courage failed him rather spectacularly, and no matter how he tried, he just didn't have the nerve to bring it up. Harry thrust himself into a false _everything is fine_ persona, and only allowed his pleasant smile to fall after Remus had fallen asleep.

Harry still could not articulate why he was so convinced that Remus was going to leave him. Hermione had theorized that it likely had something to do with his general track record with people he grew close to leaving in one way or another after a short period of time.

 

“I mean, think about it Harry,” she said over lunch one day while they waited for their respective partners to show up, “your parents, Sirius, Ginny...at a certain point it just makes sense that you would develop some sort of an abandonment complex.”

“That's not as comforting as you think it is Hermione,” Harry muttered, and her face fell a little. Harry wasn't sure to make of her theory, or whether he should have been insulted by it or not. Belatedly, he wondered if she only said it to distract him from the pattern of bruises on his upper back that had yet to fade.

This was not for lack of trying, however. Harry and Remus had both tried spelling them off, using a variety of salves and poultices, and out of desperation Harry even tried to curse them off, but nothing helped. They didn't hurt badly or impede his mobility, but they did give Harry an unpleasant twinge if he put too much pressure on them.

 

With his fears becoming more and more pronounced with each passing day, Harry decided to refer to Hermione's novel of notes when Remus was elsewhere to see if it said _anything_ about the werewolf leaving its human behind. What he found was less than reassuring.

 

_There are very few documented cases of abandonment or separation within human-werewolf bonds. The nature of the bond is absolute, and there are precious few ways to break it. It is designed to enable the werewolf to protect its human at any cost, and while the werewolf depends upon the human reciprocating its advances to maintain mental and emotional stability, the human partner depends upon the werewolf completely whether they are aware of it or not._

_If a werewolf chooses to leave their human partner, the human will often fall into a depressive state, and may show little interest in doing much of anything at all, save the bare minimum to stay alive. Such a reaction is not a conscious one, as the soul bound to its mate is pining, and in a literal sense cannot function properly if the human feels abandoned. This is very different from a Blocked bond, however._

 

Harry turned the page, and winced at the graphic image of a deeply emaciated human that more closely resembled a living skeleton than anything else. Below it, the text continued.

 

_Why a werewolf would choose to block a bond to someone they purport to love is unclear. The results of such an action are akin to slicing a person in half, and leaving the rest of their body just out of reach, but impossible to get to. The human soul will feel the loss acutely, and will not function on its own without their mate. Humans who are subject to a blocked bond shut down entirely, refuse to eat, will not accept liquids, and will fall into something close to a catatonic state. Unless the werewolf returns to them, they will die of starvation and dehydration within a matter of weeks._

 

Harry shut the tome of notes, and brushed his hand over the worn cover. More than ever, he felt that confiding in Remus might just push him over the edge. Harry no longer cared if he was being selfish; he couldn't lose Remus, he just _couldn't_.

 

The morning of the full moon, Remus was practically radiating sexual energy, and Harry knew that that likely meant that he'd be distinctly bow-legged come sundown. Harry had been leaning against the frame of the back door, enjoying the crisp morning air when the older man gathered Harry into his arms and kissed him deeply. His hands moved at once to cup Harry's buttocks, and he couldn't help but laugh around the kiss. Harry had always found it rather funny how much Remus's sex drive around the full moon mirrored that of a seventeen-year-old boy.

“Is something amusing?” Remus purred, giving Harry's bum a gentle squeeze, the pair entirely ignorant to Kreacher not two feet away, preparing an overlarge breakfast for the pair of them.

“Just you,” Harry replied with a grin, and reached up to hold onto the older man while he pushed his torrent of negative thoughts to the back of his mind. This close to the full moon, Remus would easily be able to sense any anxieties he may have had, and Harry didn't want to unnecessarily distress him. “You're insatiable at this time of the month, it's funny. Like I'm involved with a teenager.” Remus leant in as Harry talked, trailing gentle, whiskery kisses along his jaw and down the side of his throat which was making it a little difficult for Harry to focus on his words.

“Hmm, well I've never heard you complain before,” he mused. One of Remus's hands slipped up from Harry's arse and snuck under the hem of his jumper, the callused fingertips tickling the skin of his lower back.

“Not complaining,” Harry murmured, pressing his forehead against his partner's shoulder, “just observing.” His breath hitched in a gasp, and he felt his feet begin to lift off the floor. Catching it in time, he wiggled out of the embrace before Remus could get too far. “Oh no you don't,” Harry glared a little, though he was still smiling, “I told you, quit picking me up.”

“Are you going to stop me?” Remus smirked most uncharacteristically, and Harry slowly began to inch towards the door to the dining room, as the glint in Remus's eye told him he wasn't getting out of it so easily.

“I told you Remus,” Harry did not fail to notice that Remus was inching along with him, clearly looking for an opening to grab him. The full moon always made him more than a little weird—especially of late—but in particular the additional dominance he exuded during this time was both funny and a little unnerving, depending on the situation. At the moment, Harry felt as though it might be a little of both.

“I don't like being picked up. Are you really going to do something that you _know_ freaks me out?” Harry took another step back, but Remus's had expression was still carrying that playful, Marauder look in his eye, and Harry knew at once that he was in trouble. “Remus, don't you d— _urk!_ ” In one swift move that would not look out of place on a muggle Rugby field, Remus ran forward, crouched and hefted Harry onto his shoulder easily.

“ _Remus!_ ” Harry cried out, wiggling feebly in the werewolf's strong grip. “I mean it! _Put me down!_ ” His attempts to get down on his own were met only with laughter, while he reached up and swatted Harry's arse once, eliciting another yelp from his partner. Ignoring Harry's protests completely, he carried him back up to the bedroom they'd left not fifteen minutes earlier.

Harry landed with a huff onto the made bed, and crossed his arms while he glared up at the smiling werewolf. “Are you _ever_ going to listen to me when I say, ' _don't pick me up'_?”

“Probably not,” Remus replied smoothly as he crawled up to join Harry, straddling him and perching lightly on his groin. He leant in and caught Harry's lips in a feather-light kiss, and despite his irritation with his partner, he happily returned it. Remus reached up to cradle Harry's cheek in his warm hand, and his thumb brushed lightly over his cheekbone. Harry arched up slightly to deepen the kiss, shivering a little when he felt Remus's clothed erection pressing into his groin.

“You know this doesn't mean you're off the hook,” Harry murmured as his kisses began to migrate from his mouth to the line of his throat once more. “One of these days I _will_ figure out a way to make you actually listen to me...” Harry's breath hitched, his body going rigid when he felt the familiar sting of teeth at his throat, and dug his nails into the duvet. “Remus...” Harry was surprised when his voice escaped him more like a whine, but the vocalization seemed only to spur the werewolf forward instead of give him pause, and Harry gasped as the pain increased.

Stopping just short of breaking the skin, Remus's tongue laved over the new bruise, then his mouth returned to Harry's for one last kiss before he was quickly relieved of his obstructive clothes.

 

Afterwards, Remus held him close, his fingers brushing over the newest teeth-shaped crescent bruises that marred Harry's skin. Harry winced, the injuries still stung and even with trying to _not_ react, the minute cringe was enough to catch the older man's notice, and he looked away from Harry shamefully.

“I'm sorry Harry,” he murmured in a whisper so low Harry almost didn't catch it. “I—I don't know what's wrong with me...why I keep hurting you...”

At once, Harry rolled over in order to face Remus. His heart broke at the sight of him, his eyes riddled with guilt, horrified that he had lost himself and injured the one person whom he longed to protect.

“Remus,” Harry said softly, but the call of his name seemed to do little more than further increase his guilt. “Remus, would you look at me, please?”

Slowly, the werewolf looked up, and amber met emerald. Harry reached out and carefully cradled the older man's cheek in his hand, studying him carefully while he pushed back all his own insecurities. He leant in and kissed him gently, but did not go any further than a light kiss. Harry pulled back, and allowed Remus to pull him in close, pressing his cheek against the older man's chest.

“You would never do anything to hurt me intentionally,” Harry began, the fingertips of his right hand lightly ghosting over the faint tracery of scars upon the older man's chest. “I _know_ you, Remus. Whatever this is...it's not your fault. It's a werewolf instinct thing we're not familiar with, and we'll figure it out.”

Remus held more tightly onto Harry, but he didn't answer.

  

~*~

  

At sundown, Harry found himself sitting perched on the end of their bed dressed in just a pair of jeans and little else. It appeared that Remus's sex drive this moon was higher than usual, and they hadn't left the bedroom for long, save for food and bathroom breaks, as well as pausing long enough for Remus to take his monthly dose of wolfsbane potion. Harry could hardly complain, but Remus found the fact that Harry would be walking funny for the next few days to be a significant ego-booster, much to Harry's annoyance.

Remus dropped out of the pyjama bottoms he'd been wearing, and strode naked to the window to watch the progression of the moon rising into the sky. Harry could see his back muscles tense as he braced himself for the change, and Harry stood quickly to join him, rubbing at the taut muscles in an effort to calm him, though Remus did not seem to notice Harry's presence. It was hardly a rejection in the strictest sense of the word, as Remus seemed too lost to the pull of the moon, but it still felt painfully like he'd been brushed aside. Harry struggled to ignore the pang of worry in his chest at this reaction and focused his attention upon his partner.

The change came as it always did; Remus's body went rigid, his jaws locked open and his eyes bulged as he stared sightlessly ahead of him. A pained moan escaped him as his legs buckled and Harry caught him so that he wouldn't fall. Harry watched helplessly as Remus's bones snapped and reformed, his jaw lengthened, and thick fur sprouted from every follicle.

Harry took a step back and sat down on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest and his back pressed into the side of their bed. The enormous werewolf did not move for a moment, and Harry watched Remus in silence while the creature's mind caught up with its physical transformation.

After a moment, the werewolf turned to face him, its head cocked to the side, and Harry felt himself tense. Something was off, though at first Harry couldn't tell exactly what it was. It was something in the way the creature was looking at him, almost like Moony didn't recognize him.

Moony stepped forward, and a low growl escaped him, his lips curled back in a snarl. Harry's eyes bulged and he froze his movements completely, not even daring to breathe.

Still growling, Moony approached him, and in a panic he remembered distantly Hermione's claim that a werewolf would never hurt their human partner—even in wolf form. If that was true, then what was happening?

Moony stopped directly in front of him. Trembling slightly, Harry clenched his eyes shut and tilted his head to the side to expose his throat to the large creature, and he felt the werewolf's cold nose bump against his hot skin. Instantly, Moony's growl shifted to a whine, and when Harry opened his eyes he saw the creature sitting before him, ears flat against his head, and its gaze downcast, as though he was trying to apologize to Harry.

Harry reached out nervously, and when Moony did not react negatively to the small movement he combed his fingers through the thick fur, and bumped his cheek to the side of the werewolf's muzzle in an affectionate gesture. The werewolf's ears perked up, and he moved away from Harry's touch to nudge his shoulder gently. At first, Harry was uncertain what he wanted, but Moony nudged his shoulder more insistently, and Harry realized that he was trying to get him to turn around. Puzzled, he complied. The moment he moved, Moony let out a soft whine as he prodded at the marks along the back of Harry's shoulders and neck with the tip of his nose, making Harry wince at the dull ache such an action caused. Moony continued to whimper as he inspected every inch of his upper back, and it seemed to Harry as though Moony was distressed over the presence of the marks.

A rough wet tongue laved over the back of his shoulder. Harry started a little in surprise, but when he went to move away, a low, warning growl met the reaction. Harry froze and eased back into position, resigning himself to receiving what he assumed a puppy's first bath might feel like. The rough tongue lapped at the marks dotted across the back of his neck and shoulders in thick clusters. Each swipe of the great tongue stung and made his muscles twitch, but after a few minutes of enduring the supposed puppy-bath, Harry realized that the pain was beginning to fade.

Harry didn't know for certain, but it distinctly felt like whatever Moony was doing to him was healing his marks. Harry had never heard of a werewolf's saliva having restorative powers, but he vaguely recalled that it was supposed to be good to let a dog lick an open wound. He wondered if perhaps it was similar with a werewolf...assuming they didn't rip your intestines out first. Harry closed his eyes and felt himself relaxing under the strange but not entirely unpleasant sensation, knowing that even if he hadn't wanted Moony to do it, he'd have little say on the matter in the werewolf's current form.

He did not know how much time had passed; it could have been minutes or hours, Harry wasn't certain, but abruptly he felt the tongue cease, and heard the soft click of Moony's nails against the hardwood. Harry opened his eyes to see the enormous wolf, his mouth open in a wolfish smile, his tail high and wagging vaguely and in that moment looking so much like an overgrown puppy that Harry almost laughed. He nudged Harry's cheek affectionately, and Harry responded by reaching up to pat the side of Moony's maw.

Harry stood up and padded to the bathroom, though despite his suspicions being validated, it was still a shock to see himself reflected in the mirror, and see that every love-bite (or whatever they were) had been healed. Harry rotated his shoulders, and he felt no residual muscle pain either, and he looked down to the werewolf, who was sitting just outside the open bathroom door, waiting for him.

He stepped back over to Moony, and threaded his fingers through the thick fur while he said, “Thanks Moony.” Moony lifted his head and bumped his nose and muzzle against Harry's forearm.

The entire experience had left Harry feeling exhausted, and he made quick work of his nighttime rituals—with his enormous, wolf-shaped shadow at his heels—and stripped before burrowing under the covers. His mind was filled with confusion over what had just happened; after everything that had been going on with Remus in his human form, Harry felt like it would have been more likely that Moony would bite and turn him, instead of healing the marks. He made a mental note to ask Hermione as Moony climbed up with him, turned on the spot and curled up at Harry's side with a contented huff, his head perched lightly against Harry's blanket-clad hip as they both relaxed and fell asleep.

 

— _Moony growled his approval, nudging his submissive gently, and Harry willingly tumbled onto his back and exposed his throat to the dominant wolf. Moony's jaws closed briefly over it; his bite not even hard enough to bruise before he released the smaller wolf, and urged him to his feet before he nudged Harry towards the depths of the forest._

_Mouth open in a wolfish grin, Harry caught the hint at once and took off, disappearing into the gloom. Thick trunks appeared out of the dark, its canopies blotting out the moon, and Harry wove though the trees at breakneck speed, his heightened senses aiding him in keeping from running into any. Harry could hear the crash in the underbrush of Moony hot on his tail—_

 

Harry jerked awake and sat up with a sharp gasp. It took him a moment to realize that he was shaking, and when he swiped a trembling hand across his forehead, he also found that he was drenched in cold sweat. As he slowly calmed down, he tried to work out the connection between his bodily reaction and the dream itself.

Harry couldn't quite work out why his waking was the same as if he'd had a horrific nightmare. The dream itself could definitely qualify as a _good_ dream—or at the very least a pleasant dream. He wasn't entirely certain how he felt about his subconscious portraying him as a werewolf beneath Remus in some sort of strange social standing however. Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember bits of the dream, but like with all the dreams of this nature that he'd experienced, the details slipped away like water through his cupped fingers.

Harry's gaze shifted to the being he shared his bed with. It couldn't have been more than a few hours, given that Remus had not yet changed back, and the sight of the werewolf, paired with his dream made him feel even more anxious than usual. It didn't take a genius to work out what his subconscious was alluding to, but was it just by association, being with a werewolf, therefore dreaming of werewolves, or was there something that Harry was missing? He shook his head violently to clear it, but he was still stuck on the image of himself as something other than human.

Harry genuinely had no idea how he felt about _becoming_ a werewolf. Given his partner, and knowing that accidents do happen, he knew that it was a very real risk. He knew it wasn't a death sentence, but Harry wasn't ignorant to the prejudice Remus had been privy to for most of his life—something he now shared, to an extent. The idea of that level of rejection potentially from friends as well as complete strangers scared Harry more than he'd like to admit.

 _Hermione and Ron already look at me so differently since this bond with Remus happened,_ Harry thought miserably as he settled back down and burrowed into the warm fur of his sleeping partner. _I don't know if I could handle them treating me differently if I suddenly wasn't human, or if they hurt or blamed Remus for it._ Harry closed his eyes and pressed his head against Moony's flank, and allowed the steady rhythm of his breathing to lull him back to sleep.

  

~*~

  

“I haven't found anything yet,” Hermione said grumpily, and Harry stared at her blankly as they both headed across the Atrium and towards the lift.

“I was gonna say good morning,” Harry said with a frown, and Hermione went a little pink.

“Sorry,” she said, “just with the wedding and Molly pelting me with a flock of owls every morning...it's a bit chaotic.”

“I guess there _are_ upsides to Molly Weasley disapproving of one's relationship after all,” Harry tried to joke, but it came out rather flat, and he winced as he shot her an apologetic look.

“Erm, _have_ there been any developments over...the thing you told me about?” Hermione asked, casting a quick glance to the two older Ministry employees that stood in the lift with them.

“Yeah, actually,” Harry said, and upon catching her worried look, he barrelled forward quickly. “Remember the...thing I showed you at the café?” He asked, lifting a hand to rest at the back of his neck in what could be perceived as a casual gesture, but Hermione caught his meaning and nodded for him to continue. “Well, _two nights ago_ ,” Harry emphasized, hinting that the full moon had, in fact, been two nights ago, “they were healed by...um...him.”

At the same moment, the two Ministry workers exited the lift, and both Harry and Hermione relaxed.

“Oh thank God,” she said with a relieved sigh, and turned back to him. “Your code makes no sense,” she said at once, “Explain properly.”

“Erm, well, after Remus transformed, there was a moment where it seemed like he didn't recognize who I was, but after he smelt that it was me he calmed down, and then he kind of coaxed me to turn and sort of tended to the bruises,” Harry explained, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck as he spoke, “and when he stopped tending to them I went to check in the mirror, and they were all gone.”

“Hm,” Hermione cradled her chin in her hand, “very strange. Remus not recognizing you in his other form, even on wolfsbane—he _is_ taking wolfsbane, right?” She asked quickly, and Harry nodded. “Well, a reaction like that, my best guess is that your bond with him is weakening, but I don't see why it would...” She paused again, her expression pensive. While Harry felt his stomach roil at the implication. “Have you at least talked to him about your dreams?”

Harry swallowed nervously, and his hesitation in speaking seemed to be answer enough, and she glared at him.

“Harry, I know you really don't want to, but Remus will probably have more answers than I do. You _really_ should talk to him,” Hermione said, clearly frustrated, but sympathetic too, which he appreciated. “I'll look into what I can— _when_ I can, but, Harry, like I said before, it's not healthy to let things fester.”

“I'll try,” Harry said with a defeated huff, “once he's recovered from this moon, I promise I'll try and think of something to say, all right?”

“That's a good start Harry,” she said with an encouraging smile, “thing will work out, you'll see.”

Smiling weakly at her to mask the fact that he seriously doubted that, while he lifted his hand in a half-wave as they reached his level and he stepped off.

  

~*~

  

“You smell like fear,” the sudden pronouncement startled Harry, and he turned to Remus, who had been sitting next to him on the sofa. Harry had been burrowed into his side, cradling a cup of tea in his hands, with his eyes lost in the crackling fire.

It had been nearly a full week since his conversation in the lift with Hermione, and he had yet to figure out how to talk to Remus about his nightly dreams. Harry had been awash with worry over what the dreams could possibly _mean,_ in particular as they progressed in intensity, and every single time Harry awoke soaked with sweat and panting hard as though he'd been running. He did not like how physically taxing they felt, and despite his promise to Hermione, he hadn't said a word to Remus, in a vain hope that he'd hear something from her before he had to bring it up.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Harry asked, while a hand moved to toy with the flyaway hairs at the back of his neck, and Harry's eyes slid shut at the gentle, familiar touches.

“Don't play dumb,” Remus said, his tone a familiar, even calm, neither suspicious nor accusing. “You've been in a right state since the full moon, and even before that you smelt...afraid. Have I done something to frighten you? I mean, besides...” he trailed off, and his hand moved to hover over Harry's left shoulder blade, where they both knew fresh marks were hidden beneath his T-shirt.

“No,” Harry said as he opened his eyes and looked back into the fire, while he sent his cup to the coffee table with a lazy flick of his wand, and burrowed more deeply into Remus's embrace. “It's not you, not even... _that._ I've just been, I dunno, feeling kind of weird.” Harry swallowed nervously and hoped that the near-blinding fear that now consumed him was a huge overreaction on his part.

“Weird how?” Remus asked while he shifted to part his legs and wrapped both arms around Harry's waist, pulling him in so that his back pressed into the werewolf's front, and his thighs rested on either side of Harry's hips. His pointed chin rested gently against Harry's shoulder, and he felt deeply comforted by his presence—but anxious at the same time.

“I've been...having these dreams,” Harry paused, his hands resting over Remus's, the frequently present fear of abandonment reared to the surface of his mind as he spoke. “They feel like the prophetic dreams I used to have about Voldemort, but they're not...bad, I guess you could say. I don't really know what to make of them, because the dreams themselves aren't scary, or traumatic or anything, but when I wake up I'm always in a right state.” Remus moved one hand to Harry's upper arm and rubbed it consolingly as he spoke, and Harry could feel that Remus felt almost as tense as he was.

“What are these dreams about?”

“You and me,” Harry paused when Remus's hand froze on his bicep, and Harry tensed slightly. “It's always the same, it's...we're in a forest and it's the full moon...and you're in your wolf form, and...” Harry paused again, trying to gauge the reaction Remus might have, but the older man did nothing but wait for Harry to continue. “And...and so am I,” his courage failed him and the words came out in a voice barely above a whisper, but the instantaneous reaction was so sudden and so violent, it was almost as though Harry had screamed them.

Remus threw Harry away from him as though his flesh had burned him, and he jumped up and staggered back from Harry with his eyes widen in shock and fear. The sharp movement had thrown Harry face-first into the other end of the sofa with a startled yelp. He sat up quickly and turned to look at Remus, hurt by the reaction and afraid what he might do next. Remus stumbled back into the coffee table and knocked it out of place, causing the teapot and cups to tumble to the floor and shatter, their contents spilling everywhere. Remus only stopped moving when his back met the side of the fireplace, and he stared at Harry like he'd suddenly transformed into a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

“No...oh, _no Harry_ ,” he breathed, his tone almost mournful.

“What's wrong?” Harry stood up slowly, but resisted the urge to go to his partner. In that moment, Remus looked less like a werewolf and more like a frightened deer facing a hunter. “Remus, _please_ , talk to me. What is it?”

“You don't want this, Harry,” he whispered in the same terrified tone, “you _can't_ want this.”

“What are you _talking_ about? Remus, it was only a dream, I never said I wanted to be—” Harry had begun to step forward tentatively forward, but Remus lurched back as though Harry was about to strike him.

“This is wrong,” Remus said in a panic, his breath shifting to rapid hyperventilation, “I—I can't do this to you. I _can't_ be here.” Before Harry could say two words, Remus broke away from the wall he'd pinned himself to and tore towards the door.

“Remus, _wait!”_ Harry chased after him, but his preternatural strength and speed, in addition to his slightly longer limbs enabled Remus to get there first. He threw the door open, and with a sharp _crack_ of Disapparition, he was gone. 


	4. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm switching my weekly updates to Sundays, because reasons. Enjoy!

Chapter 4 – Missing

 

Harry didn't remember calling his friends over, but he must have, because suddenly Ron and Hermione were there. What had happened must have shown on his face, if their expressions were anything to go by. Shock, anguish, empathetic heartbreak. Or perhaps that was his own feelings. Harry was having a difficult time differentiating between the two. All he knew for certain was one moment he was alone, and the next his two best friends were standing before him.

“Oh _Harry_ ,” Hermione said sadly, and rushed over to pull him into a hug. Harry clung to her, but in light of what had just happened, somehow it felt so very _wrong_ to him. Hermione was small and soft, and smelt of roses and vanilla, where Harry desperately wanted the scent of cedar and sandalwood, and strong arms holding him. His breath caught, and Hermione pulled back, her eyes teary. Ron stood by the fireplace, looking uncertain, and he quickly bustled off to the kitchen, presumably to make tea. Harry didn't feel offended—Ron had always been a little uncomfortable around strong displays of emotion.

“I told you,” Harry said, his voice hollow as he looked away from her. “I knew it, I _knew_ it. I _knew_ he'd leave.” His voice caught again, and Harry took several slow breaths in an effort to keep himself calm, though it didn't help. “I—I don't know what I did wrong Hermione, I— _fuck_.” He hissed his anger, a hand moving up to hide his face as a single tear escaped his eye, and he rubbed it away roughly. “He promised he wouldn't...” Harry trailed off uncertain if he was making sense, but he was too distraught, too lost, to care.

“It's _not_ your fault, Harry,” Hermione sounded so sure of herself, as she always did, but Harry wasn't certain he believed her this time. Obviously he'd done _something_ to make Remus leave. He didn't look at her and instead fixed his gaze upon the table knocked out of place, the broken china, the brown stain on the rug. His vision warped as his eyes filled with tears again, and distantly, he realized that Hermione was still speaking. “Harry, are you listening to me? It's _not_.”

“What did I do wrong?” Harry asked, more to himself than anyone else, utterly ignoring Hermione's words. The low whisper didn't sound like him; Harry couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so broken and lost. Ron returned with a tea tray and adjusted the table and mended the china with a few quick flicks of his wand, then pressed a cup into Harry's hands before he sat down. Harry held onto the hot cup, but didn't drink it.

“Remus and I were talking,” Harry said; he felt incapable of speaking at a regular volume, and instead continued to whisper to his knees. “He...he asked me about what's been going on and I...I told him about my dreams.” Harry felt a hand rest on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, but knowing he he was being touched by anyone but Remus filled him with new anguish. It hadn't been a full hour, and already he felt as though he'd been torn apart inside. Another solitary tear escaped from the corner of his eye, and he wiped it away quickly.

“He panicked,” Harry continued after a moment, trembling in his effort to reign in his anguish, “he—he seemed convinced that I wanted to _become_ a werewolf. Then he took off, Disapparated before I could get to him.” As Harry finished his tale, he dropped the cup, it shattering, and he buried his face in his hands. He heard a low murmur of his friends presumably cleaning up the mess while he took several slow breaths in an effort to calm himself, though like before, it did not help nearly as much as Harry hoped that it would.

“Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry,” Hermione said, and Harry looked up and to see that her eyes were glassy, and she looked positively heartbroken. She pulled him into a tight hug, so sudden that for a moment Harry froze, startled, but he soon settled into it and hugged her back, his eyes stinging again with unshed tears.

When they finally parted Harry felt no better, still consumed with grief at Remus's sudden departure, but he did feel a great deal calmer, which was at least a step in the right direction.

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, drawing his attention back to her, “Remus _will_ come back. He loves you. You know that, right?” Harry looked away from her, his eyes falling on the glowing embers of the dying fire. How could it be true? Remus had scarpered pretty fast. If he really loved Harry, wouldn't he have stayed? If anything, the older man's sudden departure reaffirmed that Harry's near-constant worry over the last few months that Remus would leave him was not, in fact, unfounded.

“I'm not so sure about that,” he said at last, while Ron and Hermione looked on sadly. He drew his knees up to his chest and stared ahead blankly. He heard a low murmur, as though someone was speaking, but he paid it little mind, at least until Hermione spoke directly to him again.

“There _has_ to be more to this,” Hermione said fiercely, “Harry, do you still have the invitation Greyback sent him? What did it say?”

Harry stared at her, aware that she was speaking, but it took several long moments for the words to register in his mind. She watched him while she waited patiently for Harry to respond.

“Um, no...I don't know,” Harry mumbled as he raked a shaking hand through his hair. “He—he never showed it to me. I dunno where he kept it.”

“Okay, let's start there,” Hermione said a little too brightly. Harry did not raise his eyes to look at her, but started slightly when a fresh cup of tea was pressed into his hands. “Drink this Harry, I mean it,” she said forcefully, “don't move. We'll be just upstairs. C'mon Ron.”

Harry stared down into the teacup, and tried to feel something beyond his hollow anguish. He could hear his two best friends clomping about upstairs, but it didn't really register that they were going through all of Remus's personal belongings, looking for a months-old piece of parchment. For all Harry knew, he had taken it with him when he left.

The train of thought reminded Harry once more that Remus was gone. His breath escaped him as a tremble, his eyes burned, and he strove to remain calm. He drank his cooling tea quickly to keep from making another mess.

Fifteen minutes later by Harry's estimation Hermione and Ron returned to the main level looking rather grave. Hermione held a sheet of worn parchment, and without a word she pressed it on Harry. He shifted his gaze to the letter, and felt himself go a little cold.

 

_Lupin,_

 

_News of your transformation has reached my pack, and as one of my bloodline you have a place amongst us, should you wish to claim it._

_Your mate, however, is not welcome._

_I no longer accept human-werewolf pair bonds within the territory; they cause too much additional stress to pack life, and there is always the danger that the human may be killed during the full moon cycle. If you wish to bring him, you must first turn him. Whether you choose to join us or not is of little consequence. His turning is inevitable. If you do not do it in order to join us, you will have to do it regardless._

_Harry Potter is a powerful wizard, and to have one such as him bound to yourself will cause Anima Conversio. You should understand the implications behind that, you are not an unintelligent man. Should you choose not to join us, I still expect you to do as you are bidden. You are my kin, whether you want to admit it or not. You will turn Harry Potter, or facing me will be the least of your worries._

 

_F. Greyback_

 

“ _Anima Conversio_...” Harry repeated out loud, “what is that?”

“The literal translation is Soul Conversion,” Hermione said, sitting down next to him. “What it means....I don't know. I can look into it for you, if you like.”

Harry shrugged feebly. The concept that Greyback wanted him turned did not shock him, or frighten him, or elicit any reaction at all, for that matter. Harry felt so dead inside without Remus, Harry truly felt like nothing mattered anymore.

 

 ~*~

  

Three days later, by Harry's estimation, Remus still had not come home. Harry took a leave of absence from work, for once using the fact that he was Harry Freaking Potter to his advantage. He was terrified of leaving Grimmauld Place for fear of Remus coming back and he missing him. What if Remus was hurt? What if Remus needed him? No, he couldn't risk leaving when he might come back at any time.

Harry was curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, cradling a cup of strong coffee in his hands while he stared intently at the fire grate. It was extinguished at the moment, but it still captured his attention. Harry's eyes were itchy and his head was pounding; he wasn't certain when he'd last rested, but he knew that he needed to be alert in case Remus came back. Harry tried to remember when he'd last slept, but the musing made his head hurt and he felt dizzy with confusion. He'd slept the night before, hadn't he? Harry couldn't remember. All he knew for certain was that he needed to wait for Remus to come back. He _had_ to come back; he just _had_ to.

In that time, Harry thought he'd had visitors, but he couldn't remember. The days had all begun to bleed together, and while he could recall seeing Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, he could not for the life of him remember _when_ he'd last seen any of them. It was Ron and Hermione's engagement announcement, the last time, wasn't it? No, because Ron and Hermione had come to see him at Grimmauld Place...Harry shook his head violently; why was he so _confused_?

 

“All right Potter, enough pining.” The sudden drawling voice cut through the fog of Harry's brain and he looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing in the middle of his sitting room, with Hermione and Ginny standing just behind him with their arms crossed. Harry blinked several times and shook his head, trying to dispel the hallucination. When it didn't fade or even warp, Harry had to assume it was probably real.

“Malfoy...? Where did you come from?”

“From your fireplace, you twat. Your mudblo—” Malfoy stopped short from the identical death glares the three Gryffindors were giving him. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Granger contacted me in a panic, something about your werewolf taking off and you not moving—or bathing, by the smell of it—in nearly a week.”

“It's only been a day or so,” Harry mumbled, looking away from the Slytherin to the threadbare carpet, still stained with the tea from the day of Remus's hasty departure.

“It's been six days, Harry,” said Ginny, “you need to do something productive other than sitting here and drinking cup after cup of coffee. When did you even last _sleep_?” This was Ginny, which surprised Harry, as the reprimand had a distinctive _Hermione Granger_ ring to it.

“Come on Potter,” Malfoy stepped forward and dragged Harry to his feet, causing him to drop the cup, it smashing into a number of pieces against the carpet. The coffee stain layered over the remnants of the one left from the tea, but he didn't have a chance to clean it up or mend his cup as Malfoy dragged him from the sitting room by the collar of his shirt while he ignored Harry's sputtering protests. He only stopped when they'd reached the master bedroom, and he shoved Harry down onto the bed, his irritated expression never wavering, and entirely unsympathetic to Harry's current life situation.

“Malfoy, what—” Harry began, but Malfoy was quick to cut him off.

“—Shut up Potter,” he snapped, glaring at Harry, “the stink coming off you is an affront to my delicate Malfoy sensibilities. _Scourgify._ ” Harry hissed in pain as the cleaning spell scrubbed roughly across him, leaving Harry feeling as though the topmost layer of his skin had been peeled off. Malfoy flicked his wand again, and he found his jeans and T-shirt transfigured into a pair of pyjamas. Before Harry could utter any word of protest, Malfoy drew a small vial from his pocket that contained a thick purple potion. Without even a moment's pause, he swept forward and grabbed Harry's jaw, digging into its hinges with his fingertips. Harry gasped in pain and reached up to try and get the Slytherin off, but Malfoy ignored the feeble attempts while he tossed the potion down Harry's throat. He choked and sputtered, and within moments he could feel the potion begin to affect him, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

 

When Harry next woke, the sky was a the deep indigo of twilight, and while Harry felt bodily refreshed, his mind and heart still ached. Remus's side of the bed was painfully cold, and the indent that he usually left was no longer there. His pillow barely smelt of him anymore, and the lack of his presence made Harry feel sick and hollow.

Harry wanted to do nothing more than lie in bed and never move again, but the low thrum of voices coming from the main level told him that until his 'guests' left, he wouldn't be able to have any peace.

With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself from bed, grabbed Remus's red dressing gown, and pulled it on. The scent of his partner enveloped him and Harry immediately felt slightly calmer, though the smell was also a bitter reminder that Remus was gone, and Harry had no idea where he was, or how to find him, much less get him back. Swallowing a dry sob that had bubbled up in his throat, Harry reluctantly headed back down to the main level.

“...don't know what will happen if Remus actually _does_ that. He should know better than to think anything good will come out of blocking the bond. He may as well cast the Killing Curse on Harry, that would be more merciful that letting him die slowly.” At Hermione's words Harry stopped mid-step, and sat down on the stairs to listen.

“There's no need to be so dramatic over a lovers' tiff, Granger,” Malfoy replied in his usual drawling tone.

“It's not that simple Draco,” Ginny cut in, sounding impatient and annoyed, as though it wasn't the first time they'd had this discussion. “It's a magical bond that ties them together, and it's not something that can be broken, only blocked, like Hermione said. If Remus _does_ block it, even if he thinks it's for Harry's own good, it would be the same as killing him.”

“I don't think Remus has done that yet, though,” Hermione's thoughtful voice cut in so sharply, it sounded to Harry as though she was cutting across the start of an argument between the couple. “Harry's still pretty coherent, just...depressed, I think. He just misses Remus.”

“Those two are so _right_ together,” Harry was rather surprised that it was Ginny who had said those words, without even a hint of bitterness in her tone. “If they could stop being so stubborn they could have a perfect relationship. It's obvious to everyone how much they care for each other. Even Mum, though she'd never admit it. She's still stuck on the age difference...thing.”

Not wanting to listen to any more—hearing about Remus and him together did little to ease the feeling like he had a gaping hole in his chest—Harry made extra noise as he descended the rest of the steps to give his friends and Malfoy a chance to compose themselves before he showed his face. This seemed to be the right move, given that when he appeared in the entryway of the sitting room Hermione was wearing a painfully forced smile, Ginny was busying herself by picking at the loose threads on the sofa, while Malfoy's arms were crossed and he was glaring at the crackling fire in the grate.

“How long was I asleep?” Harry asked, his voice a little hoarse from lack of use. He didn't particularly care how long he had been out, but he had little desire to discuss Remus with his friends. He just wanted them to leave so he could wallow in his misery in peace.

“A couple hours,” Hermione replied after a pregnant pause, watching him intently as he crossed the room and sat in the armchair closest to the fire, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms securely around them. He stared at the crackling flames, while behind him he could hear his three house guests muttering quietly to one another, though they were not speaking loudly enough for him to hear.

“Harry...” Hermione called his name, but he ignored her. “Harry, would you look at me, please? We need to talk about this.” Harry continued to ignore her, at least until he heard her snap, “ _Draco, put your wand away!_ ” Harry's head whipped around at once, eyes wide with surprise, just in time to see Malfoy tucking his wand back into his robes, looking a little sulky. He refocused his gaze on Harry, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. It was quite clear to Harry that Malfoy would rather be anywhere but here.

“Stop playing the wounded wife routine Potter,” Malfoy snapped, “it's unbecoming of you. If you want your werewolf back, _go and get him_. It's as simple as that.” Malfoy crossed his arms across his chest, “I've spent the last week listening to Granger witter on about your poor love life, and how tragic it all is. You want your precious werewolf? Go _outside_ and _look_ for him.”

“It's not that simple Malfoy,” Harry tried for the defiant snap he'd always used in the past when addressing the pompous Slytherin, but couldn't manage a tone above a mumble while he spoke to his knees. “Remus is a werewolf, if he doesn't want to be found, I won't be able to find him.”

“Since when do you talk like such a loser, a failure? The Harry Potter I knew at school was never one to roll over and take it. If _you_ can't find your werewolf, I'm sure your bleeding owl will have no trouble in locating him.”

“Wait, what?” Harry finally looked up, staring blankly at Malfoy while he huffed and rolled his eyes.

“ _How_ you managed to pass your O.W.L.s—never mind your N.E.W.T.s—is _beyond_ me. Severus was right—you _are_ a dunderhead. Owl magic, you twit. When you acquire an owl, their innate magic connects with yours, and if you have a partner—husband, wife, whatever—it will, in turn, connect with them too. You don't even need to tell the owl the address, they should be able to locate them on instinct alone.”

“Draco, that's brilliant!” Hermione was practically bouncing in her chair in excitement. Ginny smiled approvingly, and Harry watched as she slipped her hand into his. The effect it had on the blond's entire demeanour was instantaneous; his facial features softened and he looked less haughty and irritated, his expression shifting into something of a neutral mask. If Harry wasn't mistaken, he was certain that he saw Malfoy squeeze her hand lightly. “Harry, just write Remus a letter and ask him to come home. At least then you two can talk face-to-face.”

Hermione's enthusiasm did little to cheer him. He knew they were trying to help (even Malfoy, in his own way), but Harry struggled to see the point in trying. Remus would come home if he wanted to, not because Harry asked him to. Hermione seemed unwilling to take no for an answer however, and flicked her wand to summon some parchment, a quill, and ink, and she pushed them on him at once. With a resigned huff, Harry balanced the ink pot on one knee, pressed the parchment against his thigh, and began to write.

 

_Remus,_

 

_Please come home, we need to talk. I miss you._

 

_Harry_

 

It took several drafts and variations of the same ten words, Harry tapping the parchment with his wand to erase them over and over until he was happy with it.

“Finished,” he said to the others, while he screwed the cap back on his ink and set it on the table, but when he looked up he saw that all three were staring at him strangely. “What is it now?”

“How did you manage to not spill ink all over yourself?” Hermione spoke as though he'd turned water into wine, and Harry rolled his eyes while he folded up the letter and scrawled Remus's name on the outside of it.

“Loads of practice with the Dursleys,” he replied, clicking his tongue once to call Strax, and handed him the small letter. “Try to find Remus, all right?” Harry asked him, and the owl gave him a muffled hoot of reassurance around the parchment in his beak. He spread his wings and took off towards the kitchen and the open window there, while Harry slumped back against the armchair's cushions.

“I've been combing the Black library while you were sleeping,” Hermione continued after a moment of silence, “for that _Anima Conversio_ thing Greyback mentioned in his letter...But I couldn't find anything. Whatever this is, it's rare magic—I don't even know if it's a human brand of magic. I'm going to try the Ministry libraries, see if I can find anything, but Harry—if it's rooted in werewolf magic there might not be anything there. Werewolves are horribly secretive when it comes to their brand of magic.”

Harry replied with a noncommittal grunt; he didn't particularly care one way or the other. This _Conversio_ thing hadn't manifested itself in any way except some strange dreams, and thus discovering what it was wasn't exactly at the top of his to-do list.

At long last, Ginny and Hermione seemed to get the hint that he wanted to be left alone. The two gave him a hug, murmured words of hope and encouragement into his ear, though they went over his head completely. How would things ever be _all right_ if Remus wasn't there with him? He watched his friends disappear into the Floo with Malfoy in tow, and slumped back against the sofa's cushions miserably.

  

~*~

 

Three days later, Harry had settled back into his routine of watching and waiting. He never left the main level for more than a few minutes at time, always quick to return to his silent vigil of alternating between watching the fireplace and gazing hopefully out the window at the street below.

In that time, he'd received a number of letters from both Hermione and Ginny reminding him to eat and shower, as well as Hermione reassuring him that she was still looking for information on _Anima Conversio,_ though like before he did not particularly care to find out what it was _._ It was secondary to the acute loss of Remus from his life, and whether it meant Harry was going to die, or live, or something else entirely, he could not find it in himself to even _try_ to care.

For the most part he ignored their reminders, only giving in when Kreacher threatened to contact his friends and tell on him for not properly eating or sleeping (according to Kreacher, coffee was not a food group). Harry didn't entirely understand how Kreacher could go against his orders of _leave me alone_ that he had issued to the elf at least three times a day, though he supposed it was one of those House Elf enslavement loophole things.

On the fifth day, Strax returned looking distinctly ruffled, and Harry saw at once that the source of his indignation came from the fact that the letter he'd sent to Remus had been returned, unopened.

The sight of it burned in Harry, cutting him as deeply as a slap in the face might have. He gently took the letter from the owl, who puffed out his chest in clear frustration, and fluttered off to the kitchen to find some food.

Harry stared at the letter, slightly warped from going to and from wherever Remus happened to be. A quick test with his wand confirmed what he already suspected, and the letter had indeed not been opened. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to be angry or hurt by this, but he settled for trying to write him again, and summoned a fresh scroll of parchment and self-inking quill to him.

 

_Remus,_

 

_Please come home._

_I dunno what I did to upset you, but I'm sorry. Please, please come home. It feels weird being here without you._

 

_Harry_

 

Harry had begun to doubt whether or not Remus would actually read it, but he had to try, didn't he? It was at least something productive, which felt both gratifying and exhausting all at once. He _needed_ Remus back. It went beyond simple emotional anguish, and seemed to manifest in Harry's heart like a physical ache. He stared at the short letter for several long, silent minutes, sending up a prayer to every God and Goddess he'd ever heard of that Remus would heed his pleas and come home—or at the very least write him back.

Deciding that it would be better to send off the letter sooner, rather than later, he stood with a groan, his knees popping audibly after sitting for so long, and he ambled into the kitchen to find his owl.

Strax was back on his perch near to the back door, and sat up attentively when Harry came in. “Ready to try again?” He asked the creature as he flew down to land on Harry's shoulder lightly. The owl hooted in what Harry assumed to be reassurance as he tied the letter in place and watched as he took flight and soared out the open window into the cool spring evening. The sight of his fading to little more than a black speck on the orange sunset filled Harry with hope, and he prayed that this time, Remus would answer him.

 

Three days later, Strax returned with the letter unopened.

  

~*~

  

Three days turned into six weeks, and Remus still had not come home.

Harry's letters continued to be returned unopened, and eventually Strax refused to deliver them. With each letter that the owl returned to Harry, he looked progressively more and more ruffled and irritated. Harry wasn't certain whether Remus was merely shooing Strax off or doing something worse, but the idea that Remus didn't want to see him so much that he would deliberately harass or scare his owl to do so was deeply unsettling; it was wildly out of character for the older man, and it burned in Harry that Remus was that determined to not contact him. Easter had passed Harry by without him even noticing, and the chocolates that Molly had sent over lay unopened in a dusty corner of his and Remus's bedroom.

 

Harry sat before the fire, twirling the ring on his finger that Remus had given to him barely five months earlier. Had it really been that long? Harry looked out the window at the pounding rain that obscured the view of the street, and he felt as though the weather was mirroring his mood. “Remus,” Harry whispered miserably, “where are you?”

The weeks apart from his partner had not been kind to Harry; he had lost a dangerous amount of weight, more than he'd ever lost even while under the tyrannical rule of the Dursleys. Through his T-shirt it was possible to count his ribs, and his skin had taken on a sickly, sallow hue. Harry felt as though he was utterly incapable of leaving the house—what if Remus came back?—and as a result, his 'search' for the werewolf had been rather limited to staring despondently into the fire, and writing letters to him. With no way to send them however, Harry would read them over once before he crumpled them up and tossed them into the fire.

Harry heaved a trembling sigh and raked his hands through his greasy hair. His harried thoughts were interrupted by the soft _clink_ of ceramic on wood, and he came back to himself long enough to see Kreacher placing a bowl of some sort of thin soup and a chunk of crusty bread before him. “Master Harry will eat,” he said firmly while he frowned at Harry. “Kreacher does not wish for Master Harry to die of starvation. Master will eat. Kreacher does not wish to have Miss Hermione force Master's hand.” The elf crossed his thin arms and did not move, and seemed to relax when Harry resignedly picked up the bowl and began to eat obediently. In truth he wasn't hungry at all, but he'd rather not have the elf call on Hermione again just to get another earful about his dietary habits, or worse—Mrs Weasley.

“Kreacher,” Harry began, looking over the rim of the bowl at the elf, who stood sentry-like, watching him consume the small meal. “When you were here alone with Remus, did he ever say anything, or—or go anywhere? He won't answer my post and I don't know if I'll ever be able to find him, and looking almost feels like a waste of time...”

“Master Remus was always thinking of Master Harry, and he worried for Master Harry often,” Kreacher began in a croaky voice after a moment of thoughtful silence. “Kreacher thinks Master Harry should start how he did with the wolf-killers,” Kreacher said, and Harry blinked once, then after a moment the gears in his brain shifted, and he understood what the elf was alluding to.

“You mean ask Greyback for help?”

“Indeed, Master. He may be able to find Master Harry's lost wolf.” 


	5. Lost and Found

Chapter 5 – Lost and Found

 

— _Harry followed the wolves' howling, answering their cries with his own, his large paws pounding heavily upon the compacted ground of the forest floor as he ran. Out of the gloom appeared a large wolf with grey and tawny fur. Harry felt his heart swell, his tail wagged excitedly as he ran forward, while Moony looked on, tail high as he waited for Harry to reach him._

_Harry bumped his muzzle against Moony's, the dominant wolf letting out a low growl closer to a purr. Harry yipped softly at Moony, and Harry pressed up against his side, while Moony's head rested atop Harry's in a stance of dominance and protection. The swell of the full moon hung overhead, illuminating their domain with her blue white light—_

 

Harry woke with a start, and for a moment he was uncertain what had woken him. He rolled over with a groan and saw Strax sitting on his bed, pecking at his upper arm, not hard enough to break the skin, but certainly enough to rouse him.

“What do you want?” Harry grumbled sleepily, and Strax hooted in annoyance, while he held out his leg to show Harry the tightly wound scroll tied there. “Oh, thanks.” Harry untied the scroll with fumbling, half-asleep fingers, then offered Strax an Owl Treat before he hooted once in thanks and flew off.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Harry sat up and pulled on his glasses, then unrolled the letter. The tiny, neat handwriting told Harry at once that it was from Hermione. He knew that she meant well, but the near-daily letters he'd been getting from her since deciding to take a more proactive approach to finding Remus was exhausting in itself. With a small shake of his head, Harry began to read.

 

 

_Harry,_

 

 _I've been looking into this Anima Conversio thing, and I haven't found anything that could be considered hard facts, but it's referenced in several different texts on Werewolf lore. “An affliction to the great and powerful who choose to bind themselves to one cursed with Lycanthropy,”, “punishment to he who dares to align himself with the beast,”, “a force of hand of the foulest nature,”, things like that. It seems like whatever it is, it only happens to powerful wizards. And I_ know _you hate it when people call you that, or allude to it, but you can't deny that as the master of the Elder Wand, you are considered to be a powerful wizard, whether you want to admit it or not._

_My best guess is that this is a spell or curse of some kind that will force Remus to turn you. Given the things I've found, the contents of that letter, and what was happening before he left, it seems to be the only logical explanation. Based on some of the other things that were happening before Remus left, it also seems to me as though the bond is beginning to break, which doesn't make any sense to me, since every source I could get my hands on said that breaking it was impossible. I don't know what to make of it, maybe if you find Greyback, you can ask him._

_I'll be by later today to help you finalize your idiotic plan._

 

_Love,_

_Hermione_

 

Rolling his eyes at Hermione's less-than-subtle jibe at her opinion of his grand plan, Harry set the letter aside, slipped from the bed, and pulled on Remus's dressing gown. It no longer smelt of him, but wearing it still brought Harry a small comfort all the same. He headed down to the main level and nodded his thanks to Kreacher for breakfast that had been laid out, and he helped himself to some sausages, eggs, and coffee.

Following Kreacher's suggestion, the idea of seeking Greyback out bolstered Harry, and helped to keep moving forward, instead of wallowing in his depression at the loss. Greyback _had_ to know where Remus was; he was an Alpha werewolf, after all.

Harry's new attitude also had a secondary effect of rekindling his appetite, and he was slowly gaining back all the weight that he'd lost during his depressive episode. Hermione had reminded him at least half a dozen times that if he wasn't eating properly he might pass out in the forest during his search, and he couldn't locate Remus _or_ Greyback if he died of starvation first.

 

A couple of hours later, Hermione tumbled into his sitting room with an armful of books, looking stressed and harassed, but otherwise fine, which seemed to Harry like an amazing feat, considering all she has had to deal with over the last few weeks. Harry felt momentarily guilty about that fact, given that she was the one who had helped the most in putting his life back together, thus putting hers and Ron's firmly on hold.

“Tea?” Harry asked, standing up from the sofa and headed into the dining room, where they'd have more space for the research she'd brought along.

“Sure,” she said, following him in and dumping her research material onto the table. Two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits materialized on the centre of the table, and Harry sat down in the chair that a month and a half ago had been occupied by Remus. The reminder that he was gone still burned in Harry, but using his dressing gown, his chair, his teacup, they were small ways that made Harry feel like he was still connected to him, even when he couldn't see him for himself.

Hermione had barely sat down before she started nagging.

“Harry,” she began, picking up one of the teacups and brushed her thumb along the rim while she paused, looking thoughtful, “I just wanted to ask again...are you sure about this plan of yours? I mean, there are so many things that could go wrong...”

“I'm sure,” Harry said firmly as he cut her off, and she let out a huff of frustration.

“But Harry,” she protested, whipping her distraught and frustrated gaze towards him as she slammed down the cup, “ _how_ is walking into Greyback's territory alone, with no one to help you anywhere in the realm of a _good_ idea? You could get yourself killed!”

“Hermione,” Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort and stay calm while he spoke, which wasn't easy. After everything that had happened, he felt like his emotions were completely fried. “I've told you a hundred times, if I bring someone else with me, there's a very good chance that Greyback or one of his pack members will hurt them, or kill them. He trusts me because of my—because of Remus,” he rephrased, his voice dropping to a mumble as the name on his lips made his chest ache.

“You don't know that for certain Harry,” Hermione said, though her tone had softened slightly as she looked on sadly, “you're just guessing.”

“I've been steeped in werewolf culture for over two years Hermione,” Harry said tiredly, his voice edged with annoyance, “when I say it would be dangerous for you to come with me, I'm not just saying it as some self-sacrificing...thing, I mean it. Even if I run into a werewolf that _isn't_ Greyback, they'll know that I'm bound to a werewolf...even if—if the bond is blocked...”

“Actually,” Hermione cut in, her tone softening a little at the reprimand as she spoke, “I'm pretty sure the bond isn't being blocked, not yet, anyway.”

“What makes you so sure?” Harry asked while he stared down into his teacup. “It's miserable here without him. I just—Hermione, I _need_ him back.”

Harry glanced back up, and he was surprised by the saddened expression he saw upon her face. More than a year ago, she was hell-bent on keeping them apart, and now she seemed more sympathetic, and less angry.

“I know he's not blocking the bond because you're conscious,” she said simply. Harry blinked in confusion and opened his mouth, but Hermione elaborated before he had a chance to ask. “In all the stuff I've read about the blocked bonds, the human of the pair pretty much shuts down. Not straightaway, but pretty quickly they just...stop. You're conscious, aware, active.” Her expression softened a little as she looked on to him. “Harry, you just miss him.”

“Then why do I feel like this Hermione?” He asked, his tone thick as he tried to force himself to calm down, though it did little to help. “One minute, I'm focused on finding him, the next I feel like the world is ending—” Harry cut himself off as he took a shaky breath and his vision began to swim.

“Heartbreak is a terrible thing Harry,” Hermione said softly while she offered him a knowing smile. “I know exactly what you're going through, because that's how I felt when Ron left.” She didn't need to explain, Harry knew that she meant during their Horcrux Hunt. The smile she wore was sad, and her eyes sparkled as though she was close to tears. She took several slow breaths before she continued. “I just...I know how it is. One minute you're fine, the next it feels like nothing will ever be right again. Love hurts, but it's also wonderful. I just...however this plays out, I want you to be happy, Harry.”

“I wish I knew what would make me happy,” Harry muttered, “all I can think about right now is finding him. But when I do...” he trailed off, and heaved a sigh.

“When you do?” Hermione prompted.

“Well, I don't know if I want to kiss him or kill him,” Harry replied, and much to his surprise, she laughed out loud.

“I think I recall having a similar reaction when Ron finally came back,” she said, and this time Harry couldn't help himself—he laughed too. 

 

~*~

 

Another week of planning went by, and Harry was barred from leaving on his expedition by the arrival of the full moon. Despite his burning desire to get moving and find Remus, he knew better than to try to approach Greyback's territory during that time of the month—to call it suicide would be a massive understatement.

Harry waited impatiently for a further three days to pass. When it was at last time to leave, he left instructions with Kreacher to contact Ron and Hermione if he didn't come back within three to four days. While he didn't expect anything bad to happen, considering his luck he thought it was better to be on the safe side.

 

Harry only vaguely knew where Greyback's territory was; he'd only visited the forest where it was situated a handful of times, and he had never set foot in the territory itself. He and Hermione had spent a great deal of time going over the maps of the area, and made a number of educated guesses as to what was the most likely location for Greyback's territory to be situated. Ron joined them on occasion, but the did not seem to have the same knack for cartography that Hermione did, and instead kept an ear out at the Auror Office for anyone matching Remus's description.

 

That cloyingly warm June morning, Harry Apparated from Grimmauld Place to the edge of the wood that he'd escorted Greyback to well over a year earlier. It looked exactly how Harry remembered it; everything thick with lush greenery; towering trees were clustered close together; ferns, flowers, and other flora blanketed the soft ground, and Harry could hear the calls and rustling of the nearby woodland creatures that shared this forest with the werewolves. The early Summer sun peeked through the thick canopies, painting the forest floor with a warm, dappled light.

Though Harry was much improved since his conversation with Kreacher a few weeks earlier, he was still far from the strong and healthy young man he had once been, and he stumbled into a tree the moment he'd landed. Harry breathed deeply, almost a gasp for breath as he tried to reign in his alarm at how exhausted one Apparition trip had made him. Slowly Harry sunk to the ground, his head spinning, and he pressed his head between his knees, groaning as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed him.

It took several minutes for Harry's equilibrium to right itself, but even so when he stood his legs felt horribly unsteady. Harry shook his head several times and took a long drink from the water skin he'd brought along before he began to look around to get his bearings. He felt a faint thrill of panic run through him when he looked around, only to find that every direction looked exactly the same, and there was no discernible marker to indicate which direction Greyback's territory might lie. Harry raked a panicked hand through his hair, and drew his wand while he tried to force himself to calm down. He knew that freaking out now wouldn't help, but the rational and emotional parts of his mind refused to cooperate, and his hands trembled a little as he lay the wand flat upon his palm and murmured, “ _Point me to Greyback._ ”

The wand quivered for a moment, then spun forty-five degrees to Harry's left, pointing northwest. Smiling faintly, he pocketed his wand and set off.

 

The going was nowhere near as easy as Harry had hoped it would be. The the trees in the area were densely packed together, so much so that Harry had begun to feel strangely claustrophobic, and the further he walked, the more the ground shifted from soft, mossy vegetation to nearly impassable, rocky terrain. The boulders ranged in size from the size of Harry's closed fist to something close to that of a hippogriff and Harry was soon soaked with sweat and panting as he worked his way through the forest.

Above him the sun passed slowly over the sky, almost as though it was following Harry's progress, and by noon Harry was feeling dizzy and disoriented, and he was uncertain whether it was a side effect of heatstroke, exhaustion, or something else.

Panting, Harry sat down heavily upon one of the larger boulders and used the hem of his T-shirt to mop the sweat from his face. Harry took another long drink from his skin while he observed his surroundings between breaths, and his eyes caught sight of what looked like a blackberry bush.

Standing up on slightly shaky legs, Harry moved over to it and cast a couple of simple food identification charms that Hermione had taught him and thankfully his initial guess was right, and they were nothing more sinister than ordinary blackberries. Given that he hadn't expected to be walking for so long Harry hadn't had the forethought to pack any food, and by this time he was well beyond starving. He was quick to strip the bush of its fruit and ate several handfuls of the berries before he set off again.

The blackberries offered Harry the necessary pick-me-up that he needed, and the going, while just as treacherous as it had been before, it seemed easier to pick his way through the wilderness with something in his belly. However, as the afternoon slowly began to give way to evening, Harry began to worry. He'd been walking for several hours, and there was no change in the terrain to indicate that he was any closer to finding Greyback's pack within the expansive territory.

Harry tried the _Point Me_ variation a number of times, and though it still seemed to work, the longer the walked, the more confused it seemed to get, sometimes spinning four or five times around in his hand before settling on a direction. Though Harry hadn't sensed any warding, it was quickly becoming clear that there was some kind of spell or charm keeping him out.

As full dark swallowed the forest, Harry decided that it might be best to go home and pick up the search tomorrow. Even with a lit wand he could not see very far in any direction, and it seemed a bit stupid to continue searching when he could hardly see where he was going. He felt a twinge of disappointment, but belatedly Harry thought that he should have known better than to assume it would take only one day to find Greyback's pack.

With a defeated sigh Harry straightened up, focused, and spun on the spot...only to find that he hadn't moved. Harry wobbled and nearly fell when his Apparition did not work, and blinking with confusion, he straightened back up and tried again. Nothing.

“Oh, great,” Harry muttered darkly as he glared around the territory. Clearly, there were some sort of Anti-Apparition wards in place, though how he hadn't sensed them on his way in was a mystery. Part of his Auror training had involved sensory tricks to determine what sorts of wards may be cast over an area, and the fact that he _hadn't_ felt them meant one of two things: either the wards were exceptionally strong, or he was losing his touch, and both possibilities left Harry with an unsettling sense of disquiet resting in the pit of his stomach.

 _What am I supposed to do now?_ Harry wondered, looking around and squinting into the blackness as he raked his fingers through his hair. More or less stuck, his momentary panic eclipsed his rational thought completely, and it took several minutes to shake himself out of it and attempt to focus.

“I guess I have no choice but to go on,” Harry muttered, and cast the Four-Point spell again, using his lit wand to carefully climb a steep, rocky incline to his far left.

In the dark, all of Harry's senses seemed to be heightened, and his skin crawled with nervousness as he strained his eyes and ears for anything that might be considered a threat. He had no idea what else might be in this forest, and for all he knew some other nocturnal beasts might be roaming the wood at this time.

Harry's nervous state made it much more difficult to stay calm; every gust of wind sounded like a voice, every rustle of the leaves looked like a shadowed silhouette. His own breathing sounded very loud in his ears, and he struggled to stay quiet, in the event that an actual threat might be lurking just out of sight.

He had not gotten very far, perhaps a quarter-mile at most when Harry felt the heat of a curse just barely miss his ear and hit a tree ahead of him with a sharp _crack_ like a gunshot. Harry yelped and dove out of the way as the trunk split apart, a great branch toppling down where he'd been standing mere seconds before. Harry whirled around lifted his wand, but at the same moment a jet of red light hit him and he was knocked back into a towering oak, and his wand flew out of his hand while his head banged against the hard wood. Harry blinked a few times in an effort to try and see in the near-total darkness, and by the light of the waning moon he was just able to make out the silhouettes of two people, their body shapes lending to the impression that a man and woman stood before him.

“ _Don't move!_ ” one of them snarled as they stalked forward. The voice was decidedly masculine, and to the order Harry almost laughed; as if he had any hope in outrunning two werewolves in his state. Harry stayed still, hardly daring to breathe, and squinted as one of their wands illuminated, Harry's eyes stinging from the sudden bright light so close to his face. It took several seconds for his eyes to acclimate to the change in light, and after noting that the male werewolf held his wand in his free hand, the other brandishing his wand mere inches from Harry's nose, he looked up to take in their appearances.

They were dressed so similarly to all the other pack wolves Harry had met at the height of the Red Moon investigation, and it led him to wonder if it was some sort of unofficial uniform. They were both dressed in ragged but sturdy jeans, barefoot, with a jacket thrown on over top—though the woman also wore a thin cotton tank top underneath the dragonhide jacket she had on.

“What do we have here, Gemma?” the man taunted, his playful tone was enough to make Harry's skin crawl as he stepped closer to him, and Harry in turn pressed his back harder into the bark of the tree. Even such a small movement was enough to make his head spin, and Harry began to wonder if his tumble from the Disarming spell had given him a minor concussion.

“A little lamb who's lost his way,” chimed in the woman—Gemma in an unsettling sing-song voice. The man laughed and Harry felt his face burn at the taunt.

“Please,” Harry said, at the wolves advanced, close enough that he could pick out their features—the man was tall, broad and hair buzzed close to his scalp, and the woman was petite but strong, with fierce eyes and curly raspberry-red hair. Both wolves were eyeing him with deep distrust as he spoke, Harry's fear was quite clear to the pair as his voice cracked feebly, “I—I need to see Greyback, I need his help.” The desperation in Harry's tone seemed to give the pair pause, and they stared down at Harry with similar looks of incredulity and suspicion upon their faces.

“And why would our Alpha even pause to consider helping a human?” the woman asked, her voice very close to a jeer, its tone reminding Harry of Bellatrix Lestrange. He swallowed thickly and shook himself to stay in the present and not fall back into his memories of the war as she continued. “He hates your kind; surely you know that.” Dark brown eyes bore into him, as though through a look alone she was trying to work out how honest Harry was being with them without the benefit of Legilimency.

“My name is Harry Potter,” Harry bit back a wince as he saw both pairs of eyes rake his hairline and refocus their mistrustful glares upon him. “I'm bound to a werewolf,” Harry continued shakily, “but he's left me.” Harry broke off as his voice cracked, and he glanced away from the pair for a moment. When he looked back, they had stepped closer, and Harry dug his fingers into the hard-packed soil in an effort to keep his fear in check. “I—I don't know where he is, my owl can't find him, I don't know what I did wrong,” Harry's voice took on a pleading tone no longer caring if these two saw him as weak. Nothing mattered to Harry anymore except finding Remus, and Greyback was the only potential lead he had. “I just _need_ to find him.”

  

~*~

  

Harry should have known it wouldn't be that easy to just stroll into Greyback's territory as a human, even _if_ he had a werewolf partner. Harry had just barely finished explaining his situation to the pair when he suddenly found himself bound and gagged, with a blindfold obscuring his vision. A strong hand hoisted him up by his tied wrists and Harry was half-led, half-dragged through the wood.

They seemed to care little about avoiding thorny bushes or sharp, narrow branches, and soon Harry could feel a number of shallow welts and scratches adorning his arms, face, and neck. With each soft hiss of pain Harry voiced, he heard one or both of the werewolves chuckle and give him a sharp yank, spurring him forward without pause.

After what felt like hours to his aching legs—though in reality it could not have been more than forty five minutes or so—Harry felt his feet touch soft, even ground, and at the same moment the man's voice sounded out.

“Alpha!” he called, “we found an intruder along the territory perimeter— _human_.” The werewolf sneered the last word like a curse, and Harry had to remind himself of how most werewolves had been treated by wizarding society as a whole made his attitude understandable. It still grated on Harry, especially after all he'd done over the last few years in an effort to help them.

The blindfold and gag were removed and Harry blinked several times as his eyes adjust to the soft light that filled the clearing that he found himself in. Harry grunted as he was thrown to the ground carelessly, and looked up at once, swallowing his fear as he saw the large, familiar silhouette of Greyback approaching him, closely followed by a small cluster of his packmates.

 

The clearing, Harry realized, was enormous. It reminded him more of a small village rather than a break in the trees, with a number of small wooden huts built onto climbing rocky mountain, a wide mouth of a cave at the far end that seemed to be filled with supplies of some sort, and in the centre of the clearing was a large bonfire. There were more werewolves than Harry had ever seen in one place, and not just big, muscular men, but women, children, and teenagers as well, all of different builds, but a good portion of them still seemed to be the werewolf stature Harry had grown accustomed to—namely large and heavily muscled. At the man's cry, Harry saw many of the small children run to different men and women around the clearing, and they hefted them up at once, holding onto them tightly as though they expected Harry to suddenly lunge forward and attack. It made Harry's heart ache a little, as such a reaction only lent to the belief that they probably suffered an attack upon their children at the hands of wizards in the past. The idea made him feel sick, and he shook his head a few times, ignoring how his vision swam when he did so, and forced himself to focus on his present predicament.

“Where did you find him Dana?” Greyback growled, while Harry squirmed in an effort to sit up. The woman—Gemma—placed a foot on his back to pin him down and still his movements.

“Just on the outskirts of the clearing, the charms our newest pack member put in place work, at least. The clearing can only be found by one who already knows where it is.” The man, Dana, nodded to someone over Greyback's shoulder, but Harry couldn't see who it was from his position on the ground.

“Small mercy,” Greyback growled as he stepped forward. “Now tell me boy, what're you...” he stopped short when he'd reached Harry, and recognition crossed his face. He lifted his arm and struck the woman across the face with his elbow, her cheekbone breaking and its sharp _crack_ echoed through the clearing. She yelped in surprise and pain, stumbling back several paces before she fell to the ground.

“Alpha!” She protested, clutching her cheek, “what—” but Greyback cut her off at once, his hands curled into fists as though he'd love nothing more but to strike her again.

“You idiots. You absolute, shit-for-brains, _idiots_. Do you have _any_ idea who you have trussed up like a turkey?”

“He _claims_ to be Harry Potter,” said in Dana, but there was an edge of nervous uncertainty in his voice that hadn't been there before.

“He _is_ Harry Potter, you moron,” Greyback snarled, “and even if he wasn't, do you not smell the werewolf claim on him? We do not harm our own, and that _includes_ bound humans to our kind.”

Greyback stormed forward and Harry cringed, but Greyback did nothing more than drag Harry to his feet and cut his bonds. Harry swayed on his feet, but Greyback's hold on him kept him from toppling over.

“Potter, explain. You look like death,” Greyback said. His voice was gentler than Harry had ever heard it, and it clashed with Harry's previous impressions of the man, making him a little dizzy with confusion. He pushed his shock aside as best he could; he'd come here with a purpose, and he needed to see it done.

“Greyback,” Harry said, slightly alarmed by the hoarse desperation he heard in his voice, “you need to help me, _please_.” He looked up at the Alpha wolf with wide, pleading eyes, “Remus, he—” but Harry stopped short as a familiar head of grey and tawny hair caught his notice over the Alpha's hulking shoulder, and Harry felt his jaw drop.

 

_Remus._


	6. Red Eyes on Orange Horizons

Chapter 6 – Red Eyes on Orange Horizons

 

The moment Remus's eyes caught Harry's, Harry watched as all the colour drained from the werewolf's face.

The reaction made Harry feel physically ill. Was Remus disgusted by him? What could have possibly happened that was so bad that it would cause him to act this way? Harry moved as if to go to him, but with Greyback was still holding him up, he could do little more than lurch forward slightly.

Remus's eyes glazed over as though he was close to tears, and he took several steps back while Harry opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to call out to his partner, but his voice refused to cooperate. He could feel his throat tightening, and Harry took several slow, steadying breaths—the last thing he wanted was to burst into tears in front of Greyback.

“Potter, let me look at you,” Greyback growled, the voice so stern that Harry did not even think to disobey it. His gaze whipped to meet the werewolf's ice-blue stare, his eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Harry's jaw in a weathered hand to still his movements as he studied Harry closely, his eyes flitting back and forth across his face, taking in every detail. He hissed a curse and turned to his gaze to the assembled crowd. “Ulrich, take Potter to the supply cave, and give him The Drink. _Do not_ leave his side.”

“Wait,” Harry choked out at last and his gaze whipped back to Remus as Ulrich, Greyback's Beta, stepped forward and took Harry by the arm. He dragged him off without a word while Harry tried calling out to Remus again. “Wait, Remus!” Harry pulled against the hold, but it made no difference.

“So,” Greyback growled while the crowd parted quickly to allow the Alpha to get to Remus more easily. Remus yelped when Greyback reached him and lifted him into the air by the throat, “when you _swore_ that you'd done as I told you and turned him, and your mate had chosen a life away from a pack...what you really meant was you ran off with your tail between your legs.” He threw Remus to the ground, and he landed in a heap. Struggling to his feet, he looked up at Greyback miserably.

“Alpha, please...” Remus began, but yelped again as the man answered him with a sharp kick in his gut, causing him to cough and gag.

“You are fucking _lucky_ that you didn't block the bond, or Potter would be in even worse shape than he is now. I _told you..._.”

But whatever Greyback had told Remus Harry did not find out as Ulrich had dragged him well out of earshot. Frowning miserably, Harry finally turned around and followed the larger man's lead to the cave.

Ulrich forced him down onto a log that seemed to double as a seat, and pressed a water skin into his hands.

“Drink that, you'll feel better. Fenrir will be back soon with your...mate.” He looked strangely displeased as he spoke the word, and if Harry didn't know better he almost thought that it was jealousy that he was seeing in the werewolf's eyes. He stepped towards the mouth of the cave, his arms crossed, and Harry watched him for a long moment before he shook his head and returned his attention to the skin in his hands.

Harry uncapped it and upended the skin into his mouth, and nearly choked when it wasn't water that splashed across his tongue, but some kind of sour ale. The taste of it nearly made Harry heave, but he obediently drank it down, and found that instead of the drunkenness he'd expected from all but chugging the vile drink, he found his head clearing, and he felt stronger.

As he set the empty skin on the ground next to him, he heard the low hissing of voices approaching him. Even at a distance there was no mistaking Greyback's strong, confident stride, or Remus's hobbling limp as he followed the Alpha. It was quite clear that Greyback had slapped him around a great deal more after Ulrich had dragged him off, and Harry couldn't decide whether he felt pleased about this or not. There was no denying that Remus deserved it and worse for what he'd done, but at the same time Harry couldn't help but feel his heart lift a little at the sight of him approaching.

They drew closer and Harry could see Remus's face more clearly; he was acutely aware of the pained expression upon his face while he looking on to Greyback as he whispered fervently to the Alpha. Just barely out of earshot Greyback growled and whipped around to grab Remus by the throat. Harry tensed and watched the pair with wide eyes while and the larger werewolf leant in the murmur something in Remus's ear. Whatever he said made Remus blanch, and as Greyback pulled back Harry heard the tail end of Greyback's promised threat to his partner, “...either deal with it, or I _will_.” He released Remus with a sharp shove and stalked off, his tense, jerking movements gave Harry the impression that he was well beyond furious. He barked at Ulrich to follow him, and the Beta hastened to obey, leaving the couple alone.

Remus did not move for a long time. He stood at the mouth of the cave and stared at Harry as though he was some sort of wild, rabid animal. The expression upon his face hurt almost as much as Remus's departure had, but fat last the older man walked slowly forward, still determinedly avoiding Harry's eye. He sat down heavily next to Harry on the log, though there was still a good foot of space between the pair.

Harry stared at him, his eyes clouded as he fought off tears, and he realized that he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to say—or do. Remus's left cheek was swollen, red, and tinged purple, and he had a feeling that under his clothes there were a number of other bruises, if his limp had been anything to go by.

As they sat there in painfully awkward silence, Harry longed to shift closer to Remus, cling to him and beg him to never do that to him again, while another part of him longed to hit him as hard as he possibly could. The silence stretched on, and quite suddenly his anger drained away and was replaced with an all-encompassing sorrow. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and curled his hands into fists; when the hell had he become so weak-minded?

Harry couldn't take the silence anymore, and he mustered up the courage to speak, voicing the question he'd asked himself over and over for the last few weeks.

“Remus?” Harry asked, his voice sounding very small in his ears and much more timid than he'd intended, but he found that he couldn't muster any anger to make it sound more forceful. The werewolf's head snapped up, his eyes wide at Harry's tone. He pushed forward, but despite Harry's best efforts he still sounded pitiful in his own ears. “Why did you leave me?”

Harry looked away quickly when he felt tears pricking his eyes, feeling both anguished and frustrated with himself. He'd _never_ been this weepy before, what on earth was going on with his mental state?

Harry shook his head a little and buried his face in his hands. He was so confused and disoriented; Harry had thought that finding Remus would fix things, but he felt, if possible, even worse. He did not know how much time had passed since he'd spoken, but suddenly he heard Remus's voice pulling him back to the surface of his mind and the sound of it was thick with guilt.

“Oh Harry,” he breathed, and suddenly hands were on him. Harry's eyes flew open to find Remus kneeling before him, the sorrow in his eyes mirroring Harry's own, overlaid with genuine guilt over what he had done. He held gently onto Harry's upper arms as he murmured, “I'm so sorry.”

Harry threw himself at Remus and clung to him as though his life depended on it. He buried his face in the crook of Remus's neck and inhaled deeply, letting his senses bathe in Remus's presence. It had been so long, Harry felt like a parched man in a desert who had suddenly come upon an oasis. Tears stung his eyes again, and his hold on Remus tightened slightly.

Remus's arms wrapped gently around Harry's waist and held him, and Harry could feel Remus mirror his actions as he buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck and he inhaled deeply. His hands tensed on Harry in a possessive hold, and he heard a low growl escape the werewolf. He didn't need to look up to know that another of the pack must have approached them, both the vocalization and the way Remus held him was telling enough.

When the older man seemed marginally calmer, Harry pressed his hands against his shoulders and pushed gently, and reluctantly Remus let him go. Harry held him at arm's length, both of them still kneeling on the ground, but neither seemed to care. Harry needed to focus, he needed to understand this, but he found that his emotions were still running wild, and keeping himself composed was much more difficult than he expected it to be.

“Why did you leave me, Remus?” he asked thickly, repeating the question, “why did you do that to me? Why—” Harry cut himself off with an angry hiss, and lifted his hand up to his eyes. He pressed his thumb and forefinger against his tear ducts and took several slow breaths before he tried to continue. In that time, Remus lurched as though he longed to comfort Harry, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment and hung back while he watched him miserably. It was a moment of painful déja vu for Harry has he recalled those months that Remus tried to help him move past _the incident_ and for a moment Harry felt incredibly nauseous.

“What have you _done_ to me?” Harry hissed, caught between anger and sorrow as he continued to struggle to focus, “I just—I want to hate you Remus, but I _can't_.”

Harry looked up to the shamefaced older man, and hoped that Remus understood the meaning behind his words. HHarry wasn't being metaphorical in the least; he literally could not summon any hatred for the man after what he'd done. What was going _on_?

“Oh Harry,” Remus breathed while he lifted a hand to brush Harry's cheek gently. He leant into the touch, and continued to watch Remus miserably. He'd done something, Harry was sure of it, he just couldn't work out _what_. “This is all my fault, but...I—I can't go home with you.”

At his words, Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“But—but _why?_ Remus, you were adamant about _not_ coming here, and now you won't leave? That makes no sense! Remus, is Greyback forcing you to stay here, because that's not—”

“—No,” Remus said, “Harry, I—I want to go with you, but I can't. It's too risky. Alpha told me that you were suffering from _Anima Conversio_ but—but I didn't want to believe it.” Harry's breath caught when he saw Remus's eyes glaze over. “Your dreams were the first sign of a partial turning. My...reactions, my claim marks made sense when you confided in me and I just...things would have gotten worse if I'd stayed. Harry, please, if I'd stayed you would have certainly been turned and I couldn't let that happen to you.”

Harry felt suddenly cold, shock and fear overlapping his other emotions as he stared down at Remus with wide eyes. Considering all that had happened lately, it did not come as a complete surprise, but it was still difficult to hear.

“But...how?” Harry asked at last, while the pair slowly got up at last and moved back to the log, their hands tightly intertwined. “Moony never bit or scratched me, so how could this be happening?” Remus sighed heavily, and Harry assumed that since he bolted, this had been weighing heavily on Remus's mind, given how sorrowful he looked following Harry's question. He carded his fingers through Harry's hair, and Harry's eyes fluttered shut as he leant into the touch.

“It's complicated Harry,” he began, the hand stopping to rest at the back of his neck, and he stroked the skin there lightly. “It does not happen very often with werewolf-human bonds, sort of a one-in-a-million kind of thing.”

“God knows the rare and unexplained _never_ happen when I'm involved,” Harry muttered, and Remus smiled weakly.

“When a human with a powerful magical core mates with a werewolf in a bond like this, the presence of the werewolf magic will cause the human's magic to respond with equal dominance in the only way it knows how—by taking some of the werewolf into itself,” Remus said, his voice thick with emotion, and nowhere near the old Professor tone of voice Harry had grown so accustomed to hearing when Remus would explain a concept to him. That alone told Harry just how terrified Remus was of this _Conversio_ thing. The hand at Harry's neck trailed down his back and refastened itself at his hip and held tightly onto Harry, as though afraid he might suddenly disappear. “But if you are turned, you will not be a dominant werewolf, you will be a submissive one, and that could end very badly for you.”

“Badly how?” Harry wasn't certain he wanted to know, but at the same time, he knew that he _needed_ to know.

“Turning you...it would dissolve our bond and you may feel differently about...about me if you are turned. You may not want to continue our...relationship.” It took Harry a great deal of effort to keep from sputtering with disbelief at the words and the look he saw on Remus's face in that moment.

“Remus,” Harry said gently, “given the choice, is there any reason I would want to continue our relationship _now_?”

The words caught his attention, and his gaze snapped over to meet Harry's, his eyes wide with shock and hurt.

“W-What?”

“Instead of staying and helping me, you _left_ me Remus,” Harry said, all attempts at keeping his voice steady were lost as he stared up at him. All he wanted to do was kiss the man and hold him close, but at the same time...he didn't. “ _I love you_. Right now, I wish I didn't, but I do believe that I will always love you, whether I want to or not. Bond or not, werewolf or not, I love you. And I'm fairly certain that that won't change whether I'm human or...something else.” Harry's voice could not help but tremble a little at the end. Did he really want to _be_ a werewolf, or was this another thing he would be forced to do whether he wanted it or not? He held more tightly to Remus as the thoughts plagued his mind.

“I don't know if I'd want that or not,” Harry continued in a rush, hoping that Remus would understand what he meant, “I mean, to me, the dreams were just that...dreams. I had no idea what they meant, and I've wanted to tell you for ages but...I was afraid of how you'd react.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Remus said again, looking even more guilty following Harry's pronouncement. “Your dreams and my reactions clicked together when you told me about them...I do not want to curse you with this.” Harry stared at him with confusion, but he elaborated quickly, “the way I'd bite you—mark you. It was the wolf essentially staking claim on you, as though to say that you were mine to turn.” Harry tensed, and he shifted closer to press his cheek into Remus's shoulder. Remus tightened his hold on Harry in turn, one hand moving to rub his back, the other holding him close.

“Do I have any real choice in this Remus?” Harry asked softly. He felt so utterly lost and afraid, and his head spun as his panic began to set in. The idea that his choice in this—like so many other things in his life—might be taken from him scared him more than the idea itself of being turned. Harry breathed slowly in an effort to calm down, but it only succeeded in amplifying his fear. A rough hand against his cheek snapped him back to reality, and Remus pulled him in for a rough kiss. Despite the circumstances, Harry could not deny that it made his heart soar to feel Remus kiss him again.

“You do, Harry,” Remus said firmly, “the wolf in me can recognize that you are not ready or willing to be turned. Above all, pair bonds that turn the other are based in consent and trust, not in an unwilling infection,” Remus said firmly, but Harry frowned, not entirely sure he believed that. It seemed to fly in the face of everything he knew about werewolf culture.

“What about Greyback? Something tells me he doesn't exactly agree with that sentiment,” Harry replied, and Remus's hand stilled on his cheek; he looked away with a frown.

“He wants me to turn you,” Remus murmured, his voice so low Harry almost didn't catch it. “The dreams will continue until I do—and they aren't like normal dreams, they will become physically taxing if it goes on for too long—and he believes that you will be a very strong werewolf. If I stall on it too long, he's threatening to turn you himself.” At the words, Harry felt a shiver rush through him, and he held more tightly onto Remus.

“I—I don't know what I want with this,” Harry breathed, looking up at Remus with wide, frightened eyes. “But if I have to be turned...I'd rather it be you.” At his words, Remus looked almost mournful, and he pulled Harry in for another kiss.

Unlike their earlier kiss, this one was slow and drawn out. Harry fisted Remus's hair and parted his lips, and at once their tongues twisted together, tasting each other for the first time in months. Harry moaned softly, his body flush with desire for the man that held him. It had been so long— _too long_ since he'd felt this way.

“Harry...” Remus breathed as he slowly pulled away from him and stared at Harry with a mournful expression. “I...you need to go. You need to get out of here,” his voice broke a little and Harry felt himself go cold at the words. “Please, _please_ believe me when I say that I want you to stay, but I need to stop this from happening, and you're not safe here. Not safe from me, or from...anyone else.”

Harry knew that by _anyone else_ Remus likely meant Greyback, but Harry couldn't care less if he ran the risk of running into Voldemort out here, he wasn't about to leave now.

“No chance,” Harry said at once, his voice harder and more firm than it had been throughout their talk. “Remus I just found you again, why the hell would I leave?”

“Harry, please don't make me drag out out of here,” Remus said, his gaze hard with warning.

“Like you could,” Harry replied in challenge, “if you _drag_ me out of here I'll just come back. And I'll come back again and again. I won't lose you again Remus, understand? I won't, not again. We can work this out together,” Harry's forceful tone softened, but his hold on Remus tightened slightly. “You don't have to be alone.”

Remus answered Harry with one word.

One word, and his wand.

“ _Obliviate._ ”

  

~*~

  

The first thing that Harry was aware of was pain. His head was throbbing, and his body felt heavy, as though he'd been abruptly woken up from a very deep sleep. The second thing he was aware of was that he was in his own bed, with no recollection of how he'd gotten there. He groaned, and he could hear the soft muffle of voices close by. Though he was aware that they were speaking clearly, he could not for the life of him figure out what they were saying. As the fog in his mind dissipated, the words began to make more sense.

“Ron, _Ron!_ Get in here! Harry's waking up!” Hermione's words cut through him, and he felt momentary confusion. Where was Remus? What had happened? Harry's brow knitted together as he struggled to remember, but the memories refused to stay in place, and there was darkness were once he was certain there had been a memory.

“Harry!” The door banged open, and Harry slowly opened his eyes. The hazy outline of the ginger was visible in the doorway, illuminated by strangely blinding sunlight that poured in his bedroom window. “Mate, are you all right?” Harry ignored the question and pawed blindly at his night stand, then felt his glasses pressed into his hand by Hermione. He mumbled his thanks as he pulled them on, and his two best friends came into sharp focus as he sat up.

“What happened?” He mumbled, looking from one to the other, while he tried to focus on what had happened, but his mind was still strangely blank. “Where's Remus? I—I went to find him, and...” Harry shook his head, and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes in an effort to focus, but it didn't help. “I can't remember,” he looked back up at his two friends. “ _Why_ can't I remember? _Where's Remus_?” Harry felt his voice crack, and while he was vaguely aware that he was repeating himself, he didn't really care. Why wasn't Remus with him, and why were Ron and Hermione there instead? Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“We came by to check on you, and you weren't here. We were working on a Locater Spell to find you, when we heard someone Apparate on the front step,” Hermione was talking so quietly it was almost a whisper, but in the dead silence of the house, Harry caught every word. “Whoever it was Disapparated almost at once, but left you behind, unconscious. We brought you inside...you've been out for almost twelve hours.”

Harry reached over and grabbed Remus's pillow, pulled it into his lap, where he hugged it tightly to his chest.

“Remus...” Harry whispered softly, his voice broken. He _knew_ it had been Remus that had brought him back here...but, from where? Harry groaned and buried his face in the pillow. It still smelt faintly of him, but after so long away, the scent of his partner was almost completely gone.

“Harry, can you tell us what happened?” Hermione's soft voice cut through his muddled, anxious thoughts, and he looked up to her, blinking with confusion. For a moment, even though he _knew_ it was Hermione, she also felt like a stranger.

“I don't know...I went to try and find Remus...and I woke up here. I remember that we talked—” Harry cut himself off with a grimace. He wasn't certain that he was ready to explain what his strange dreams actually _meant_ , and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from elaborating further on that particular topic, “—but I can't remember anything else. I can't even remember where we were.” Harry groaned again, and hugged the pillow more tightly.

Harry felt the bed dip and a hand brush across his forehead. He flinched from the contact; it wasn't Remus touching him, and somewhere in the back of his mind that seemed wrong, somehow. “Harry,” Hermione's delicate tone cut through the silence, “I—I think Remus used a Memory Charm on you. I don't know why, but I'll try to find out, all right?” Harry nodded silently as he lay back down and curled his body around the pillow in an effort to spoon it. Hermione's weight lifted from the bed, but he did not look towards her while she whispered something to Ron and left.

In the silence, Harry tried to work through Hermione's words. Remus had used a Memory Charm on him—someone Harry trusted implicitly had _stolen_ some of his memories. Harry hugged the pillow more tightly. The details were few and far between, but it was enough that Harry could guess he didn't want Harry to find him again. He felt his eyes brim with tears. Did Remus really hate him that much?

“Mate,” Ron's apprehensive voice cut through the silence, “you should probably eat something, you've been out for a while...” he trailed off uncertainly and fell silent.

“'M not hungry,” Harry mumbled, not even turning to look at his longtime friend.

“Harry—”

“Please Ron, just...I want to be alone.”

Silence followed his words, and finally Ron left, the door snapping shut behind him. Only when Harry heard the ginger's footsteps fade down the hall did he allow his resolve to crumble and he wept.

  

Never in his life had he felt so hollow, so _broken._ Why would Remus do this to him?

Harry took a shuddering breath, and clutched to the pillow more tightly. His tears that stained the pillow seemed to mute the scent of his lost partner, and the disconnect Harry felt made him feel cold. It was an unsettling, unnatural chill that was physical as well as mental, and for a brief moment Harry wondered if somehow a Dementor had gotten into the house. His breath escaped him as a wheeze, and Harry tried to calm himself down as he struggled to work out _why_ Remus would toss him aside so carelessly.

 _What could I have done that was so bad that he'd feel the need to wipe his location from my mind?_ Harry squeezed his eyes shut; _I want things to just go back to how they were—we were happy, weren't we? God, I miss him so much...it's like someone punched a hole through my chest._

A sudden hand brushed through his wet hair— _when had his hair gotten wet? He couldn't remember taking a bath—_ startled Harry from of his thoughts, and a high, unnatural whine escaped him as he lurched away from the touch. The light contact made his skin crawl and made him shudder from the sheer _wrongness_ of it; it wasn't Remus, he could sense that it wasn't.

“ _No..._ ” Harry whimpered as he curled up again, but when the hand came at him again he jerked away. Panic flared in him, a familiar, blinding panic that radiated through his every pore, and he vomited directly onto the bedspread.

Harry lay in his puddle of sick, feeling no urge to clean it up, but another's magic skittered across his flesh and the mess vanished. He shivered at the feel of the unfamiliar magic, and whoever it was spoke to him, though he couldn't make out the words, like they had suddenly begun to speak a foreign language. However, there was one word buried in the nonsense that he understood perfectly.

 

“# ##### _Remus_ ## ######## ##### #### _,”_ the voice said, _“_ # ##### ## # ### ## ######## ## ##, ####### # ##### ####### _Remus_ ##### #### ## #### ## #####... _”_

 

_Remus._

 

Harry's eyes snapped open and he sat up sharply. A young woman stood there, she looked mildly alarmed, while the tall young man at her side seemed caught between anger and confusion. But they had spoken of Remus; these strangers seemed to know his mate.

“Remus?” He asked weakly, his voice croaking, and the young woman took a small step back. _No, don't leave,_ Harry thought in a panic. These people—whoever they were— _knew_ his mate, or knew _of_ him at least; they might be able to help him. “Where...where is he? Please, where's Remus?”

The young woman approached him again and stroked his hair kindly, and spoke, but again it was a jumble of gibberish, and made no sense to him. The touch still felt unnatural, and Harry lay down again. He still felt very cold, and shivered as he clung to the pillow; the scent of his lost mate no longer calmed him, but instead reminded him of his abandonment.

“ _Remus..._ ” Harry whimpered, and closed his eyes. He heard the low thrum of the unfamiliar voices, and slowly they faded away as the pair left him alone. Tears streaked Harry's cheeks again, while he struggled to force himself into a state of calm; he needed something— _anything_ that would distract him from this agonizing pain.

It took but a moment for Harry to decide in his confused, terrified state, and his mind fled to the far reaches of his subconscious.

It buried itself in memories and dreams, and his body went very still.

Peace, at last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just want to note that I'm not angsting just for the sake of angsting, I am going somewhere with this. Until then, I'm sorry and please don't kill me.
> 
> In the meantime, if you need Remus/Harry without an insane amount of angst, please check out my oneshot Father Figures, part of my Twelve Days of Smutmas series which is adorable fluff and smut goodness :)


	7. Blocked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Christmas/Hanukkah/Saturnalia/Etc! Like I said in the author's notes at the beginning of this fic there would be a POV switch eventually, and here we are. I tried not to make it too jarring, but it didn't make much sense to keep it in Harry's POV for the next bits. You'll see what I mean.

Chapter 7 – Blocked

 

“What's wrong with him, Hermione?” Ron asked, horror-struck as he stared down at Harry, his eyes wide as he watched his best friend attempt to spoon himself around a pillow, his clothes soaked with sweat. He was shivering violently, but when Hermione reached out to touch damp hair, he cringed away from the contact with a cry as though he'd been burned.

“I think Remus is blocking their bond,” Hermione replied, frowning. “I didn't do a lot of research on it, because I never thought Remus would ever do this to Harry...”

“Remus?” Harry's eyes snapped open, and he sat up sharply. Hermione took a nervous step back at the haggard, desperate look in Harry's eyes, but more unsettling still was the lack of recognition in his gaze—it was almost as though Harry didn't know who they were anymore. “Where...where is he? Please, where's Remus?”

“We'll find him Harry, don't worry,” Hermione said in a soothing tone, while she reached out to stroke his hair again, but the words did not seem to register with him. He continued to stare unseeingly at Hermione, light tremors coursing through him as he settled back onto the bed, turning on his side and reaching for the pillow again.

“Remus...” Harry whimpered, and Ron frowned, feeling extremely uncomfortable by the helplessness he heard in his friend's voice. Not even after everything they'd lost in the war did he recall ever seeing Harry look so lost, so damaged. Ron felt a flare of anger towards Remus, but he swallowed it as best he could, not wanting to alarm Harry any more, and turned his attention to his fiancée.

“C'mon Hermione,” he grunted while he reached for her hand, “let's talk downstairs.” Hermione hesitated, her gaze fixed on Harry's unnaturally still form. Had it not been for the steady rise and fall of his chest, he looked almost like a corpse. At last, Hermione stood and reluctantly followed Ron out of the room.

 

“So Remus is blocking this bond,” Ron prompted as they reached the ground floor, “what does that mean, exactly?” He sat down at the dining room table where a number of books and stacks of parchment had been spread out, all research material from Harry's recent adventure in the woods, and looking at it now Ron felt another surge of anger. So strong in fact that he felt his vision momentarily blur, and his stomach twisted, as though he might be sick. Harry had done everything in his power, poured his mind, body, and soul into fixing things with Remus, and Remus had repaid him by completely and utterly destroying his mental state. Privately, Ron hoped that Remus stayed lost, because the next time he saw him he was going to _kill_ him.

“The short version is Harry will die if we don't find Remus soon and talk some sense into him.” Hermione grimaced and sat across from Ron, and dug out the notes that she'd brought with her—information on the blocked bonds she'd planned to give to Harry. Ron mirrored her grimace; the last thing he wanted was to bring Remus within a hundred yards of Harry—he'd done enough damage, as far as Ron was concerned.

“What's the long version?” Ron asked after a moment's pause, and Hermione's frown deepened.

“Harry will waste away to nothing,” Hermione replied, her voice shaking a little as she spoke, “his mind—or rather, his soul is pining for Remus, and it's sort of like how Remus was when the claim first happened, except instead of intensely seeking Remus out, Harry's body is basically shutting down. I'll be honestly shocked if we manage to get any food into him, most of the humans that suffer a blocked bond die within a couple weeks because no one can get them to eat.”

“But...why would Remus do this to Harry?” Ron asked, the horror he'd felt from earlier returning to his voice. He felt very ill at the thought that Harry might be actually _dying_. After cheating death so many times, was he fated to waste away, die a slow, agonizing death instead of a quick one at the end of a wand, like they'd always assumed he would?

“I doubt he knows the extent of what blocking the bond will do to him,” Hermione replied, though her tone of voice expressed that she was as uncertain about that as he was. It seemed as though Remus wasn't above anything anymore. “He might also think that maybe Harry is above succumbing to it, since he can throw off the Imperius Curse. I'm going to see if I can get a stasis charm to work on him, and if not I'll try to get my hands on a muggle IV and feeding tube...”

“A what now?”

“Intravenous, Ronald,” Hermione said crossly. “It's...sort of a muggle potion that keeps unconscious people nourished and hydrated. I'd take him to St Mungo's, but I doubt Harry would want the media attention that'd draw...even if we were able to get him there.” Hermione spoke in an exasperated, distracted tone while she riffled through her research, “I think the most pressing thing is finding Remus...”

“After what he did?” Ron sputtered, “Hermione, he's done enough damage, don't you think? The _last_ person that should be near Harry is that man.”

“I know Ron,” she looked up as her voice broke, and he was startled to see that her eyes were brimming with tears. Quickly, he circled the table and she abandoned her work in favour of throwing herself into his arms. Ron held her while she cried, her tears dampening his shoulder, and when she at last pulled back he offered her a handkerchief, and she blew her nose wetly, her eyes still very shiny. “I _hate_ it. If I c-could, I'd keep Remus as far from Harry as possible. But for starters, I won't do that again when Harry can't even _think_ for himself, and secondly Remus is literally the only person that can even hope to snap Harry out of this. Right now, we need him.”

“Are you that sure that we absolutely need Remus?” Ron asked cautiously as he sat at the head of the table next to where Hermione sat, and took her hand. She clutched onto him tightly, her expression still lost and miserable.

“All—all the texts say that only the human's mate can bring him back to life, so to speak,” she replied, her voice still clouded with anguish. “I want to find a way to break this bond, it's probably healthier at this point for Harry and Remus to go their separate ways,” Hermione's voice broke, and it was several long moments before she regained her composure enough to speak. “I wish it hadn't happened this way but...”

“One step at a time Hermione,” Ron said with a steady calm that he didn't feel. He squeezed her hand gently, and she returned it weakly.

Hermione carefully slipped her hand from Ron's and she took a slow breath, then raked her fingers through her hair. She looked a little calmer, but Ron could practically feel her distress coming off her in waves.

“I wanna try that stasis spell first,” she said, her usual matter-of-fact tone returning to her, though her voice still shook a little. “It will at least keep him from wasting away to practically nothing.”

“Hermione, are you sure you're up to it? I mean...” Ron trailed off when he saw the determined look in her eyes. He knew that expression well, and there would be no shifting her once she'd made up her mind.

“I'm fine Ron, I just...I can't just _sit_ here, you know?”

“I know,” Ron replied at once, and stood back up. “C'mon then, let's give it a try.”

 

Back upstairs, Hermione stood at the foot of Harry's bed, wand out, and hands trembling as she looked on to their friend. Harry's eyes were closed and he was curled in a fœtal position on top of the duvet, but he looked no more alive than he had earlier. Once more, save for the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest—he looked like a corpse.

“Ready, Hermione?” Ron asked, and at once she nodded her head, though she did not look exactly _ready_.

Hermione raised her wand, but her hand was too badly shaking, and her arm dropped again. She took several slow breaths and tried again, and though she still looked positively distraught at Harry's state, she at least looked marginally calmer. She muttered something under her breath, and a shimmering, spring green light poured from the tip of her wand and encased Harry's form.

Immediately Harry began to whimper as though she was causing him great pain, but other than the vocalization he was perfectly still—eerily still. Ron curled his hands into fists again as he remembered with a flash of anger just who had done this to his best friend.

The spell sunk into Harry's flesh, leaving the faintest of glimmers upon his skin, as though someone had rubbed a salve filled with glitter all over him.

“Done,” Hermione said somewhat breathlessly, and they watched Harry squirm uncomfortably upon the bedspread, more life than he'd shown in over an hour. Ron and Hermione stepped back, but Harry continued to whine and fidget, as though he was in some sort of pain, then at last settled down again, but continued to shiver almost violently. “We can monitor him from downstairs,” Hermione whispered while she reached for Ron's hand and gave it a gentle tug, “come on.”

Casting Harry one last miserable glance, Ron turned and followed Hermione downstairs.

 

“So what do we do now?” Ron prompted the moment they returned to the table, and Hermione dug out her research again. “Besides pray that he doesn't die, I mean.” Hermione glared at him following his comment, but didn't answer.

“Next thing I think is to find Greyback. I can't find _anything_ on this _Conversio_ thing, and if that letter is any indication, Greyback probably will know more about it, or what we can do to help him...I hope.”

“Except that this is _Greyback_ , Hermione,” Ron said, a forceful edge to his voice, “I'd trust him about as far as Kreacher could throw him. How do we know that this _Conversio_ thing is real, and not some elaborate scheme to turn Harry?”

“Given Remus's reaction to Harry's dreams and the physical...er... _stuff_ ,” Ron felt his ears grow hot just as Hermione flushed a deep red—that was _not_ an image he wanted to picture. “I think it's safe to assume that it's real. I just wish I knew what it _means_ ,” she let out a frustrated groan, “I don't understand why Remus would go to such lengths to hurt Harry, this isn't like him at all...”

“Lately, it seems very like him,” Ron replied sourly, “he's...I hardly recognize him anymore. This bond-thing has fucked both of them up so badly.”

“If we can find a way to break it, hopefully they'll both be able to at least _start_ to recover,” Hermione said softly, “but...I still think that finding Greyback should be the first step. I just have no idea how we would go about doing that. They probably have all sorts of warding to keep their location from being detected and—”

“—Actually,” Ron cut in, “I think I might have an idea.” 

 

~*~

 

“I know we went through Remus's stuff to find that letter,” Hermione began, shifting uncomfortably as they stepped into the recently renovated study Harry had set up down the hall, “but somehow this feels more like an invasion of privacy than that did...”

“Your logic does not resemble our earth logic,” Ron commented, and her mouth twitched into something close to a smile. “Look, Harry had maps annotated with Greyback, noting all the packs nearby. He didn't keep it at the office—I know that because I heard Caldwell bitching that she couldn't find it when she searched Harry's desk when he was elsewhere—so the next place he'd probably keep it is here.” He finished his explanation, and to his surprise, Hermione was smiling at him. A warm, approving smile that he didn't quite understand. “What? Did I say something funny?”

“Oh, no Ron I just...” she broke off and a sound escaped her that seemed somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I'm just proud of you. You've come a long way since our abandoned formal education.”

“Is that your way of saying that I'm not as thick as I used to be?” He asked, and she smiled again, choosing not to answer as she turned to one of the filing cabinets in the room and reluctantly the pair began to search. 

 

For two hours they sifted through Harry's unnervingly meticulous and paranoid files.

Ron couldn't remember Harry ever being this organized back in school, and every single case file he'd worked on were copied at least twice, written so neatly that it almost looked like newsprint, and were so highly detailed that it read like a completely different person than the Harry Potter Ron thought he knew.

 _Who are you?_ Ron wondered, unnerved, as he stared down at the file in his hand. This didn't seem like Harry at _all_.

“There's nothing here,” Ron announced, stuffing away the latest file before he threw himself into Harry's leather desk chair. “Maybe he burned them or something.”

“Hold on,” Hermione said as she closed the filing cabinet she stood at, “there's one more thing I want to try.” She drew her wand and flicked it once, “ _Incantatem Revelio!_ ”

Immediately, Harry's desk began to glow, and one side of it, which seemed to be an overlarge desk leg a moment before, glimmered a faint gold and a drawer appeared. Hermione rushed forward and reached out her hand to open it, but stopped short with a faint grimace.

“What is it Hermione? Just open it,” Ron said, stepping up next to her, and she frowned at him.

“I can't—literally. You try.”

Ron eyed her quizzically, then reached forward to open the drawer. He stared as his hand came into contact with something that felt like some sort of strange, almost pliable bubble that was stopping him from physically touching the drawer.

“Warded,” he said, and Hermione nodded. “Guess that means we found them.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I'll try and break these, can you go check up on Harry?”

“'Course,” Ron forced a smile and reached out for her hand. “Give us a shout if you need help, yeah?”

Hermione laced her fingers with his and squeezed his hand gently, then turned to face the warded drawer while Ron reluctantly slipped from the room and headed back to check on Harry.

 

Ron sat by Harry's bed, making sure that he didn't stop breathing or something. It still bothered him how vulnerable he looked, his breath was coming on in short, wheezing gasps; his body was soaked with cold sweat no matter how many drying spells Ron cast on him; Harry's skin was as white as bone, and he cringed away from Ron every time he tried to feel if he was sporting a fever.

“God, Harry...everything seems to happen to you, doesn't it?” Ron muttered under his breath while he cradled his head in his hands and watched his friend's fitful sleep.

As Ron watched him, he had the distinct impression that something was wrong, though at first he couldn't work out what it was. This whole _thing_ was wrong, but still in the pit of his stomach there was an unsettling feeling that refused to go away, and Ron realized with a start that the stasis spell had worn off.

“That's impossible...” Ron hissed, staring wide-eyed at his friend. He knew the stasis spells well; they were something most Aurors were taught early on, in case there was a badly wounded victim at the crime scene, and they needed to keep them stable until the Mediwizards arrived. The fact that Harry had thrown it off, or it wore off—Ron wasn't certain—was deeply unsettling.

Ron quickly cast the spell again, and Harry whimpered again, but otherwise did not react. The faint glimmer of the spell clung to his skin, but Ron could already see that it would not last.

Less than an hour later there was a soft tapping upon the door, and Ron looked up to see Hermione there, cradling a stack of parchment in her arms, as well as a leather-bound notebook. Ron got up and stepped out into the hall while she asked, “how has he been?”

“He's not asleep or unconscious, he'd just...I dunno, it's like his mind's run away. I hate to say it, but it looks like you were right...I don't think he'll get better until we find _him_.” Ron grimaced; he hated the idea of bringing Remus back to Harry in _any_ capacity, but what choice did they have, really?

“We do have a slightly larger problem than just finding Remus,” Ron continued with a frown. Hermione raised her eyebrows in an expression that clearly prompted Ron to continue, and he pressed in at once. “The Stasis Charms aren't holding.”

“ _What?_ But...but that's impossible!” She sputtered, nearly dropping everything that he had cradled in her arms. “Those charms are meant to hold for days, weeks.”

“I've re-cast it four times while I've been sitting here with Harry,” Ron replied with a frown, and he felt his anger flare again. “I guess it has something to do with the blocked bond, I don't know.”

“This would all be so much easier if I could just hate Remus,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she sniffled softly. “But...I'm sure he's doing this with good intentions, like trying to free Harry of the bond or something, even though I'm sure he knows that that's impossible.” Ron wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gently steered her towards the staircase.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, you told me that once,” Ron said gently, and Hermione laughed at his words, though there was a bitter edge to the sound.

“Of all the muggle phrases I teach you, _that's_ the one you remember.” Ron chuckled and wrapped his arm more securely around her while they walked, and he summoned Harry's firewhisky and two glasses while Hermione spread out what she'd found on the coffee table. Ron pressed a glass with a measure of the drink into her hand, and she sipped it while Ron prompted her.

“So what did you find? The maps?”

“Yeah,” she said and pointed to them. On over half a dozen sheets of parchment were maps of Britian, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, all with small inked Xs dotted all over them, with such tiny, cramped handwriting that for a moment Ron thought that it was _Hermione's_ handwriting—it looked nothing like Harry's. “And a journal. Looks like Harry was writing down all the dreams he's had. There's not much in it though, I think he's only started keeping it the last couple of weeks.”

Something in Hermione's tone told Ron there was likely more to this than just dreams. He gingerly picked up the journal, as though it might bite him, and he flipped it open.

 

_17 th April_

_Another dream last night._

_It was the same as always, I'm in a forest, I'm with Moony, we're both wolves, and it's...I can't explain it. The happiest I've ever been is when I'm sleeping, because I can be with him again, and he's with me, and not gone. At the same time, I hate it. Every time I wake up, especially since he left, I feel drained when I wake up. Not like, tired drained, but like...weakened, like something's going wonky with my magic. I know it's not, and I know it's fine because when I try basic spells they're all normal, but it takes me a good hour to feel strong enough to get out of bed._

_~~I miss Remus.~~ _

 

The crossed-out phrase was partially obscured by a dried tear that had warped the ink. Ron flipped to the next page.

 

_18 th April_

_The dream was the same, but different last night._

_I was in the forest with Moony, but it wasn't happy like they usually are. Greyback was there, and he was fighting Moony._

_Moony looked different too, he was bigger than I remember—stronger. I almost didn't recognize him._

 

_19 th April_

_I was in the forest with Moony again. We were playing, and I was running ahead, and then I was tackled to the ground, pinned by a dominant wolf, but when I turned round, it wasn't Moony that held me down, but a wolf I didn't recognize. I don't know what it means, and I woke up with my skin feeling like it might crawl right off my bones. I don't like this. I don't give a flying fuck what anyone says, I want him back, I need_ _him back._

 

Ron flipped through the pages, the dream sequences repeating and rearranging themselves, and pages upon pages of Harry's laments at his loss of his partner. It pulled at Ron's heartstrings, and he had a very strong desire to hit something—preferably Remus. He stopped at the present day, _12_ _th_ _June,_ and felt slightly uneasy at the sight of no writing filling the blank space. It reminded Ron of how utterly incapacitated Harry was, and again he felt a flare of anger at the older man—the _werewolf_ that had done this to Harry.

He snapped the book shut and forced himself to put it down, and refocused his attention on Hermione.

“What do we do now?” He asked, his voice escaping him much more softly than he had intended.

“Easy,” she said, and Ron stared at her in surprise. _Easy_ wasn't the word he'd particularly use in this situation, and he was amazed at how confident she looked at her own sentiment. “Remus took off to Greyback's pack, that much we know. So to find Remus we need to find Greyback, just like Harry did.” Hermione picked up one of the maps that showed an illustration of the Black Forest, with a small annotation that read, _Greyback_. “The problem we'll have is finding it, then not getting ripped apart by Greyback himself.”

“What d'you mean finding it? It's right there,” Ron pointed to forest on the map, and Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

“Werewolves are notoriously mistrustful of humans, Ron. There will be spells—enchantments to keep us from finding the pack, and then there will likely be sentries keeping an eye out for intruders. Even if we _do_ find them, we'll need a damn good reason to keep them from killing us.”

“And how are we supposed to do that? When it comes to humans generally werewolves are the curse or bite first, ask questions later type.”

“I don't know,” Hermione looking towards the front hall, and the stairway. No sound came from the above levels, and Ron felt an agonizing shadow of helplessness close over his heart. They needed to help Harry, and to do that they needed Remus. But how were they ever going to find him? 

 

~*~

 

Ron sat at Harry's bedside, his stomach churning with anger and disgust. It had been two weeks and in that time they had been utterly incapable of getting Harry to eat or drink anything. Even with the stasis spells in place(and re-cast as needed), his body refused to absorb any nutrients, and they'd just barely managed to keep him hydrated enough so that he didn't dry up like some sort of husk. His cheeks were hollowed and his skin was waxy; his eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets slightly as he stared ahead unseeingly; his lips were chapped and peeling, and even through the loose T-shirt he wore, Ron could easily count every rib and vertebra. Harry was curled up in a foetal position, his breathing was shallow, and seemed completely unaware that Ron was even there.

The sight of it pained Ron deeply. Harry had always been strong—brave to the point of stupidity. Now, all because of Remus, Harry was probably going to die. Ron curled his hands into fists on his knees and he gritted his teeth while he tried to stifle his boiling anger.

“Ron!” Hermione's stage whisper snapped him out of his daze and he looked up to see her at the door dressed in her travelling cloak and holding a rolled up scroll of parchment in one hand, the ring Remus had given Harry in the other. It was a testament to how far gone Harry seemed to be when he did not react at all to its removal. Ron stood up and stepped into the hall, his mouth pulled into a deep frown.

“Hermione, I don't like this plan. How do you know they won't just kill you on sight?” He crossed his arms and leant against the wall, as she rolled her eyes—it hadn't been the first time they'd had this discussion.

“Ron, we've been over this. The werewolves are far from what we'd consider an _equal_ society. They won't see a muggleborn witch on her own as a threat in the same way as they'd see a pureblood wizard. If you came with me, it'd be a miracle if they didn't kill you outright, and I don't want that to happen.” Her eyes shone a little and her voice caught slightly at the end of her statement. He knew that he had lost, and come hell or high water, she was determined to go alone. With a soft sigh, he leant in and kissed her once.

“Be careful.” 

 

~*~

 

Ron spent the next couple of hours alternating between watching Harry and trying to read up on the bond in question. Hermione's notes were painfully boring, but detailed almost nothing on how to snap Harry out of it, in the event that they were unable to locate Remus. Kreacher wandered in on occasion to stare down at Harry, his lost, troubled look enough to tell Ron that he, too, had no idea how to help him.

Afternoon faded into evening, and the thin crescent of the waning moon cast almost no light into the bedroom. The passage of time was punctuated by Kreacher bringing Ron a stack of sandwiches and a flagon of butterbeer, which he ate his way through while he kept a close eye on Harry, who whimpered softly in protest to the smell of food. Besides the soft vocalization, he didn't move. The sight of it turned Ron's stomach, and for a brief moment, he felt another surge of hatred towards the man who did this to his best friend.

Remus had done this to Harry.

Remus had broken one of the strongest people Ron knew without lifting a finger. His hand clenched tightly at his robes and he gritted his teeth as he struggled to stay calm.

“ _Remus..._ ”

The pitiful whine snapped Ron from his angry musings, and he refocused his attention on Harry. A thin sheen of sweat coated his flesh, dripped from the bridge of his nose and made his thin T-shirt stick to his chest. Ron felt bile rise in his throat as he watched the garment cling to Harry's unnervingly skeletal body. His breathing was shallow, and Ron could see that even in sleep(at least, it seemed like Harry was sleeping), he was highly distressed by Remus's absence.

Ron conjured a dry towel and reached forward to gently mop up some of the sweat that coated him. The moment he got close however, Harry let out a cry like a wounded animal and cringed away, tears mixing with the sweat that soaked him. Ron backed off at once, afraid of making Harry's state of mind worse, and slumped in the chair, feeling utterly useless. He cast a quick glance to the bedroom door and the empty hall that lay beyond it. Grimmauld Place was silent.

“Master Harry is dying,” The sudden, croaky voice made Ron nearly jump out of his skin, and he whirled around to face Kreacher.

“ _Merlin's pants, Kreacher!_ Don't _do_ that!” Ron gripped the front of his robes as he gasped for breath, his heart beating wildly as he tried to calm down.

“Apologies, Master Ronald,” he bowed low, and spoke again when he straightened up. “Master Harry misses his werewolf. He is pining.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Ron stared at the still form on the bed, at a loss for what to do.

  

~*~

 

Six days passed, and Ron felt more and more like a useless lump the longer he stayed in Grimmauld Place. He hadn't heard from Hermione, though he wasn't certain whether this was a good thing or not. Harry had not moved from his bed, his lips cracked and peeling, his skin had taken on a greyish tinge, and his eyes seemed to have sunk into his skull. Harry had never been a big bloke to begin with, but now he seemed to have moved past just a vague description of skeletal or emaciated, and now in many ways literally looked like a skeleton.

From Harry's work with the Aurors and regular oversized meals by way of Kreacher and his mother, Harry had stopped looking half-starved, and looked like a man his age should. He had muscle tone, he was filled out, and his mother had stopped telling him to tell Harry to eat more when he came by.

“Come on Harry,” Ron murmured to the shadow that had once been Harry Potter, “snap out of it. You can't die on me, not like this. You're my best mate, I need you around to keep me from messing things up with Hermione.” He laughed weakly, and the sound was pained and sounded incredibly false.

Harry was curled on his side, holding tightly to a pillow, his breathing shallow, and entirely unresponsive to Ron's words. The sight pained Ron, and watching Harry do this to himself made him feel so utterly helpless. He turned to look outside; rain fell heavily past the window, painting its pane with water as thunder rumbled ominously overhead.

“Come on Hermione,” he murmured softly to himself.

As though she'd heard his call, Ron heard the front door bang open, and her shrill cries floated up to him from the main level. “Ron? Are you here?”

Harry's eyes snapped open.

Ron had opened his mouth to reply, but he was caught between the shock of Harry's first proper physical response in weeks and the sound of someone thundering up the stairs. The footfalls were far too heavy for them to belong to Hermione, and Ron got up quickly and hurried out the door, snapping it shut behind him. As he suspected, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with a rather distressed-looking Remus Lupin.

A sharp _crack_ sounded though the hall, and Hermione let out a little scream. Ron's fist came into contact with Remus's cheek and caused the older man's head to snap to the side sharply, and he stumbled back several paces in his shock. Ron's knuckles ached from the move, but he was too furious to pay it much mind.

“You bastard,” Ron growled, “you absolute _bastard._ ” He stared down the werewolf with narrowed eyes, but Remus did not raise a hand or open his mouth to defend himself.

“Ron, don't!” Hermione cried, standing by the stairs with her hands over her mouth. Remus's expression was blank, and his cheek where Ron had hit him was an angry red.

“You claimed to care _so much_ for Harry,” he continued, his voice trembling with anger, “and yet you do this to him? I've had to watch my best friend since we were eleven waste away to practically nothing in front of my very eyes and _it's all your fault._ ” Ron was breathing deeply as he struggled to keep his anger in check as he ranted at the man. “If you had just sacked up and _helped_ Harry instead of taking off with your tail between your legs he wouldn't be practically dead right now.”

Remus didn't answer, but instead wore a closed-off mask, hiding whatever emotions he might have felt in the moment.

“I know,” he said at last, his tone of voice almost deadened, as though he was as hollow as Harry was at the moment, “there is no excusing what I have done.” There was tremor in his that Ron couldn't identify as anger or sorrow as he pressed on. “I thought Harry would be strong enough to see this through, but—”

“You thought wrong,” Ron snapped, not caring that he'd interrupted him. He stepped aside, his limbs trembling in an effort to reign in his anger. In spite of his better judgment Ron opened the door, and Remus did a double-take and what he saw on the bed. Ron did not take his eyes off the werewolf, who looked horrified at what he was seeing. 

“Help him.”


	8. Hermione's Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Special thanks to my braintwin KuriQuinn for helping me fix some of the plot points in this one. If you're into T-rated Naruto het, def check her out. Also apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, in between Festivus and New Year's my brain is jello. I'm recovering from FOUR effing family parties and didn't have as much time as usual to edit. Anyway, please enjoy, and I'll see you all next week :) Happy New Year!

Chapter 8 – Hermione's Tale

 

Remus froze. It was as though Ron had told him to walk barefoot across hot coals.

 _Or silver medallions, in this case,_ Ron thought, his eyes still narrowed with fury. He hated that Remus was the only thing that could help Harry—because as far as he was concerned Remus did not deserve Harry, and because he really, really, _really_ wanted to hit him again.

“Didn't you hear me?” Ron snapped, drawing the older man's attention back to him. “Help. Him. Harry is not four feet from you, he's dying, and without you, he _will_ die. Are you just going to just stand there all day?”

 

“Remus?”

The weak, reedy voice was so soft that Ron almost didn't catch it. It pulled at his heart and made him feel sick to his stomach, and once more he was filled with fury. _Remus had done this to Harry,_ he thought, and his hands clenched into fists. Ron grit his teeth as he struggled to resist the urge to take another swing at the older man.

The soft voice seemed to act as some sort of catalyst, jump-starting Remus's protective instincts for his mate, and was at Harry's side in an instant.

“I'm here, Harry,” Remus said softly as he reached for Harry, and Harry let out a soft cry of recognition as Remus gathered the much smaller form into his arms. Ron snorted derisively to Remus's words, and Hermione elbowed him sharply in the side to shut him up—hard enough that he winced a little.

“Come on,” she said softly, “let's leave them to it.”

Ron cast one last look into the master bedroom. The small figure on the bed folded into the arms of the larger form of Remus Lupin, the low thrum of one deep voice and one weaker, whispery tone reaching his ears, though he couldn't make out the words. Hermione tugged him again, and he went with her reluctantly. He really did not like the idea of leaving Remus alone with Harry—not after what he'd done. Between Remus's focus on Harry and Hermione's insistence that they leave them be Ron saw no alternative however, and followed his fiancée's lead with a frown.

They headed back downstairs; Ron took his turn to lead and steered Hermione to the sofa, then forced her to sit down.

At once, a platter with tea and scones appeared on the table in front of them, and Hermione let out a small, nervous laugh. Ron looked at her, this time _really_ looked, and he was shocked at what he saw.

Dark circles ringed her eyes, and he skin was almost unnaturally pale, as though he hadn't slept in a while. Her hair was tangled and greasy, and there was a long, thin scratch running horizontally across her cheek. Time seemed to freeze, and Ron reached up to brush his thumb across the scabbed line. The touch seemed to make her snap, and with a small sob she threw herself into his arms.

Hermione cried for a long time. Ron had no idea what to make of the strong response the light touch had caused, and he just rubbed her back awkwardly as she wept into his shoulder, while she held onto him so tightly that it was almost painful.

 

It took a little time, but ever so slowly, Hermione came back to herself.

Hiccoughing weakly, her face streaked with tears, Hermione pulled back and Ron let her go while she extracted a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. Without a word, Ron pressed a cup of tea into her hands, and she responded with a choked sob of thanks, and took a fortifying sip.

“Oh Ron, I'm s-sorry,” she said tearfully, and put down the cup, her hands trembling too badly to hold it properly. “It's been a long few days a-and I was so s-scared we wouldn't make it back in time a-and—” her stuttered, tearful explanations were cut off as Ron drew her into another tight embrace.

“It's okay Hermione,” he murmured against her hair while she clung to him again, just as tightly as before, and another anguished sob escaped her. “You made it back, and Harry's gonna be okay,” Ron paused, but continued to stroke her hair while she seemed to be caught between complete exhaustion and anguish. “You wanna talk about what happened?” he asked, “I was really worried, you were gone a long time.”

Hermione pulled back from him, with another tearful gasp as she tried to compose herself. She mopped her eyes with the handkerchief she still held she nodded a little. She took several slow breaths before she finally began to speak.

“It was...” Hermione broke off again and stared into the fire grate. “I don't know, Ron, I know a lot about werewolves, and I've read about them and we of course know Remus but...I guess I wasn't as prepared as I thought I was.”

“You don't mean—they didn't _hurt_ you did they?” Ron felt panic swell in his chest, his eyes roving over her, looking for marks. He saw nothing—save the scratch. She just looked exhausted.

“Nothing life threatening,” she replied with a wave of her hand, but the way her voice caught told Ron that she was likely more shaken by whatever had happened than she was letting on. He'd had enough of waiting and wondering, and grabbed her hands in his. She paused and turned to look at him while he squeezed her hands gently.

“Okay Hermione,” Ron prompted, “start from the beginning. _What happened_?”

Silence fell between them. Hermione looked away from Ron and into the fire, her eyes were still red and puffy from crying, but Ron recognized the pensive, thoughtful look in her gaze all too well. After a long stretch of quiet, she began to speak.

“Well I left here and went straight for the Black Forest,” she began, her voice soft and shaky. “At first I thought I'd gotten it wrong, because I wound up on the outskirts of some little village.”

“Hermione Granger getting a spell wrong...so miracles do happen,” Ron joked, and Hermione cracked a faint smile.

“Shut up,” she said without any venom, “anyway, I got my bearings and found that I was in the right area, but I figured that some sort of ward was keeping me out, so I got some provisions from the town and started hiking.”

Hermione reached for the cup of tea she'd abandoned, and took a small sip as she pressed on. “I hiked for three days, and I was debating going back...I had been using a variation of the Four Point Spell to try and find the pack—the same one I taught Harry, but I couldn't find anything and then...” Hermione broke off with a shiver. The fingers around her teacup tensed, and she stared wide-eyed into the fire.

“Hermione?” Ron asked tentatively, but for a long moment she didn't say anything, and the haunted look that appeared in her eyes made him feel sick to his stomach.

“The werewolf guards for their territory...sentries...I don't know how, but they found me.” Her voice dropped to just above a whisper, and she seemed to lose the nerve to speak for a long moment before she resumed the telling of her story, though her voice continued to tremble.

“They were rough with me, nothing life-threatening,” she added to the horrified look in Ron's eyes, “I think they just wanted to scare me. They made all sorts of-of crude remarks and...” her voice died in her throat again, and she looked down at the teacup in her hands. Ron felt as though he'd swallowed a block of ice as he stared at her. He reached out, fingers brushing her shoulder gently, and her gaze snapped up.

“Hermione...they didn't...I mean, they didn't... _hurt_ you, did they?” The word _rape_ died on his tongue, but Ron simply couldn't say it. Much to his relief, Hermione smiled minutely and shook her head.

“No. They threatened me with it, and a few of them tried but...They said that they needed to take me to their Alpha first.”

“Greyback,” Ron said at once, and she nodded to his guess.

“They weren't exactly gentle, and they half-dragged me into their territory,” Hermione said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact, as though she was discussing nothing more thrilling than the weather, though her eyes told the truth of her current mental state. She paused to sip her tea, and the haunted look that Ron saw in her gaze made him wonder if that was _all_ those brutes had done. He did not get a chance to ask her however as she pressed on with her story.

“One of them went off to get Greyback,” she said, clearing her throat in an effort to maintain her calm tone, though it did little to help. “The others dragged me into this hut—I _think_ it was Greyback's, because it was the biggest one there, but I don't know.

“Greyback got there in about thirty seconds,” Hermione continued, “and I explained what was happening to Harry and our guesses that Remus was blocking the bond. He didn't believe me at first—I almost think part of him didn't _want_ to believe it for some reason. It took a little convincing before he'd believe that I wasn't a... _Ministry grunt,_ as he put it, even with Harry's ring. I know he could probably sense or smell or something that it was Harry's, but he still didn't trust me, and it took some time for him to even begin to believe that I was genuinely there on Harry's behalf.”

“What did you do?” Ron was surprised at how soft his voice sounded, enraptured by Hermione's telling. “To convince Greyback, I mean.”

“It wasn't what you'd call fun,” Hermione said as she eased back into the sofa's cushions with a soft sigh. “He questioned me on all sorts of things...like details about Remus that only people close to him would know, everything from his birthday to the nature of his bond with Harry...everything. I lost my patience with him a lot, because I was just _so_ scared of running out of time and coming back to find Harry dead, and he and I sniped at each other like a pair of cats. I think his werewolves were as scared of me as they were of him by the end of it all.” Hermione paused, a faint smile of amusement gracing her features, and Ron chuckled softly. He knew how vehement Hermione could get, and he did not doubt her claim for a second. “Once he'd accepted that I wasn't just a Ministry official I told him what was happening with Harry and...” She trailed off again, and Ron was shocked by the expression he saw on her face. She was actually _smiling_.

“And...?” Ron prompted, torn between wanting to know what had happened, and really _not_ wanting to know. What could have happened right in the middle of such a tense scene that would prompt Hermione to smile so happily?

“Greyback almost ripped Remus limb from limb on Harry's behalf. He was _livid_.”

“And that's _good_?” Ron asked as he stared, utterly lost on why Hermione looked so _pleased_ about that.

“Well he didn't _literally_ rip off the bits that stick out Ronald,” she said while she rolled her eyes, and Ron laughed a little. “But after I explained what was happening he got really, really angry and took off, and even with the door shut I could hear him practically roaring Remus's name.” She shivered a little at the memory, and took another sip of her tea, which seemed to steady her nerves as she continued.

“I heard them arguing—screaming bloody murder at each other by the sound of it, then something happened—I don't know what, but I heard all this wolfish snarling, and Greyback came in with Remus, and Greyback still looked really angry, but Remus...beyond just looking beat up, he looked _miserable_.”

“He sort of had it coming, after what he put Harry through...but Fenrir mustn't've hit him very hard...there was hardly a scratch on him,” Ron grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Werewolf, remember, Ron? Accelerated healing powers. Believe me, what Greyback did to him...It probably would have taken one of us a few weeks in hospital to recover from...that,” Hermione said, and she shivered a little at the memory.

“All right then,” he replied, though he wasn't sure he believed her, for the moment he wasn't keen to argue about it, “what happened next?”

“Well, Remus wasn't exactly happy to see me. Even after the tussle he had with Greyback...” Hermione trailed off for a moment, her thoughtful expression making Ron wonder if she was remembering something else that had happened while she was there, but she shook her head and continued, “anyway, Greyback brought Remus into his hut so he and I could talk, but he refused to leave us alone, I suppose after what Remus had done to Harry while he was in the pack's territory he didn't really trust Remus anymore. Anyway, I told Remus what was happening to Harry, but he really didn't want to believe me when I said that he was as far gone as we all said that he was.”

“Why is he being so pigheaded about it?” Ron asked with frustration. It made absolutely no sense to him—literally everyone had told the man that what he was doing was hurting Harry. “He's not stupid, and it's not like we'd lie about something like this. He should have known that doing something like that would hurt Harry, wouldn't he?”

“Because...well, you know how Remus is about his Lycanthropy,” Hermione said, “he's never been able to accept himself, I mean...not completely.”

“What does Remus's self-esteem issues have to do with Harry?” Ron asked, and Hermione gave him a significant look, but he blinked, no idea what she was getting at.

“Well, the way Remus explained it, and Greyback confirmed it for me...Harry's been partially turned.”

 

The silence that followed felt heavy, like a physical weight had descended upon the pair of them. Ron turned a little, his eyes falling on the staircase. He looked up, and couldn't figure out what he was feeling. His first instinct was still anger—at Remus. It was just another way that the older man had utterly fucked up his best friend's life. What had Harry done to deserve all this misery? It just wasn't _fair_.

“I don't think it was completely Remus's fault,” Hermione said quietly, and Ron whipped around to face her again.

“How is it _not_ his fault? Obviously Moony must've bitten him or scratched—”

“—He didn't though,” she interrupted, “Remus _swore_ that he'd never forgotten to take the wolfsbane potion around Harry. Werewolf magic is really complex and so it's a little difficult to explain...” Hermione trailed off, frowning as she thought. “Remus said that because of their personalities or something, the magic in their bond sort of forced Harry to partially turn...before all this started, Harry had told me about these dreams he's been having...” Hermione cut herself off again, and reached for a biscuit on the platter that Kreacher had sent them. She fiddled with the Jammie Dodger that she'd grabbed, but she didn't eat it.

“Dreams?” Ron asked, and felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Memories of the snake attack on his father in his fifth year flooded into his mind, and he suddenly felt rather sick. Apparently sensing his distress, one of Hermione's hands shot out and grabbed tightly onto his.

“No, nothing like his visions of Voldemort,” she said hastily, and Ron refocused his attention on her. She was smiling weakly, and though he could see the flicker of fear in her eyes, he was reassured by her words. “Basically, it was his subconscious trying to tell him to _want_ to be turned, or something. But Remus is terrified of doing it to Harry, you know how he is about all his werewolf stuff.” Ron nodded; he knew. Hermione often told him about how unobservant he was, but he wasn't _blind_. It had always been pretty clear how much Remus hated the werewolf part of himself.

“Did Harry tell you anything about this, Ron?” Hermione asked, and Ron shook his head mutely. She sighed heavily, apparently unsurprised.

“It had been going on for quite a while before Remus left,” she began, “dreams, and er...” Hermione paused and went very pink, “Remus has been um, marking him when they...” Ron felt his ears go as red as Hermione's cheeks, and they both looked away from one another. He didn't care who Harry was with, he really didn't—but he _really_ didn't need that visual of Harry in his head.

“It just translates to Harry's subconscious reacting to the partial turning, and Remus's subconscious answering it by _wanting_ to fully turn him when he's ready,” Hermione explained, peeling apart the biscuit in her hands as she began to slowly eat it. Ron wasn't certain he completely understood this _partial turning_ thing—Hermione was acting so matter-of-fact about everything, it was almost unnerving.

“But what if he doesn't _want_ to be turned?” Ron asked, “I mean, that's a pretty big...thing.” He frowned as he looked away from Hermione and to the glowing embers of the dying fire. It didn't matter to Ron if Harry was a human, or a werewolf, or a bloody garden gnome; he'd still be his friend, no matter what, but he seriously doubted that the rest of the world would be as accepting. A lot of people were still highly suspicious of werewolves after their part in the war.

“At the end of the day, I'm not so sure he'll have much of a choice,” Hermione said, her tone dropping from the neutral one she'd adopted to anguished as she spoke, “no matter how much Remus wants him to make the decision for himself, Greyback seemed pretty adamant about having Harry turned whether he likes it or not.”

“And what's Greyback's interest in Harry?” Ron asked hesitantly, uncertain whether or not he really wanted to know the answer.

“The way Remus explained it to me was Harry would be a very strong wolf, but...he'd be a submissive one. From what I gathered, turning him would dissolve their current bond, and he'd be sort of at the mercy of any werewolf that would want to claim him.” Hermione stared into the fire, her gaze troubled. Ron's insides twisted uncomfortably at her words. Claim? Hadn't they seen how that played out already?

“That doesn't sound good,” Ron muttered at last, trying to keep his tone as neutral as Hermione's was, but failed rather miserably. “So...like an Omega thing?”

“No, nothing like that,” Hermione said. Her tone of voice had bordered on the exasperated tone she had often adopted when she had parroted facts from _Hogwarts, A History_ to them at school, but her anxiety over everything that was happening had muted it somewhat. “Alpha, Beta, Omega...those are ranks. The werewolves earn those titles based on strength in the pack and stuff. Submissive or Dominant is sort of an inherited trait, and doesn't have much to do with it. Dominants are the protectors, the source of strength to their mates and the pack, Submissives are the caregivers—”

“—caregivers?!” Ron sputtered, cutting off Hermione in a moment of panic, “you mean like having babies?” At this, Hermione snorted.

“Harry's still a _man,_ Ronald. He hasn't got a womb. Where's the fœtus going to gestate, is he going to keep it in a box?” Hermione snapped, and Ron felt a flush creep up his neck and to his ears. Before he could interject, she pressed on. “Not necessarily _have babies_ , though female Submissives often do, but they are considered the ones expected to care for the children and things...Like a Nanny, I think. Mating bonds with werewolves are different from actual wolves, it's not just based on breeding. It can be a power-claim thing, it can be based on mutual attraction like a normal marriage, lots of reasons. It seems like Greyback wants him turned to 'help' him, but I have a hard time believing that...He wasn't exactly clear on _how_ being turned would help Harry.” Hermione pressed her thumb and forefinger to either side of her chin as she thought, and Ron turned back to her story, deciding to leave the Pack Dynamics discussion for later—it seemed like that would take longer to work out.

“So how did you eventually talk Remus into coming back? And how did Greyback have _no_ idea what Remus had done?” Ron asked, and his two questions were met with a soft frown from Hermione.

“I...I don't know. I mean, I don't know all of it,” Hermione said while she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, “from what I heard when Greyback was beating him up, Remus had fed him some cock-and-bull story about Harry being called off by the Auror Office to chase down some imaginary Dark Wizard. Apparently Remus claimed he was having trouble catching up with Harry, when in actual fact—” 

“—he was doing nothing at all, save practically killing him,” Ron finished, and Hermione nodded a little.

“Our guesses were more or less correct,” Hermione continued after a moment of silence, “Remus didn't think he'd blocked the bond, he though he'd managed to break it, since he couldn't feel his connection to Harry at all anymore. He didn't want to believe that he'd made things worse, when he was just trying to make things better.”

“And he couldn't let Harry decide for _himself_ what was best for him?” Ron muttered angrily, and Hermione frowned, mirroring his disapproval.

“It must be a dominant werewolf thing,” Hermione said, her tone softened slightly, “like he figures that he knows better than Harry or something.”

“Sounds like how muggle women are treated by the men, if your stories are anything to go by...” Ron muttered darkly, and Hermione did not try to defend Remus—what was there to say, really? Remus had utterly destroyed everything that Harry _was_. Would his best friend even be the same after this was all over?

“Hermione...” Ron began, something suddenly occurring to him, and she looked over to him, concern in her eyes at his tone. “When all this is...done...Harry will be a werewolf, won't he?”

Hermione did not look at him, but cradled her teacup in her hands and stared into the crackling flames. Her expression that had been so haunted, so terrified by what she had seen since arriving back at Grimmauld Place deepened, and there was a terror there now that Ron felt as acutely as Hermione did, if her expression was anything to go by. She did not speak for a long time, and when she did at last, her words were not unexpected, but still the last ones Ron wanted to hear.

“Unless we can figure out a way to reverse this partial turning thing, yes, he will be.”


	9. Brand New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now that I've recovered somewhat from my insane Smutmas project, I'm able to post twice a week on this fic :) Starting today, my posting schedule will be shifted (again) to Saturdays and Tuesdays. Here is this week's instalment, I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 9 – Brand New Day

 

In the late evening, Ron and Hermione were alerted to Remus's presence nearby by a soft creak upon the stairs. It rent the air like a thunderclap in the dead silence, and both of them swivelled their heads owl-like to the front hall.

Remus looked awful, and Ron found himself rather pleased by that fact.

 _Good,_ he thought, _after all he's put Harry through, he deserves to suffer._

Remus was white as a sheet, his eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed to be trembling slightly. As Ron looked on, he didn't have it in him to feel anywhere near sorry for his ex-professor. _He_ had done this to Harry.

“He's sleeping,” Remus said softly, not meeting Ron or Hermione's accusatory gazes as he stepped into the sitting room and fell heavily into one of the available armchairs. He immediately buried his face in his hands, and it was several long minutes before he finally straightened up and began to speak.

“I—” he cut himself off, and rubbed at his jaw with his hand, his eyes taking on a haunted look. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know that this would happen—any of this.”

“That's no excuse,” Ron replied at once, his voice trembling a little in an effort to keep his anger in check. “Remus, he _trusted_ you. How could you do this to him?” He curled his hand into a fist, but Hermione touched Ron's arm lightly, and he did his best to swallow his fury at the older man. It was a shame, really—he would have loved to hit Remus again.

“Before all this,” Hermione said, cutting through the tense atmosphere Ron had created, “Harry was convinced that something like this would happen—that you would leave him.” Remus blanched at her words; Hermione ignored the look he was giving her and continued.

“Remus, Harry has lost so much in his life—his parents, his godfather,— _Ginny._ ” She glared at Remus, but did not give him an opportunity to speak as she quickly pressed on, “he was _happy_ with you Remus, happier than I've ever seen him. He loved you. You must understand how much more traumatic it was for Harry, believing that you would leave, then have it actually happen. He was shattered, _beyond_ shattered.” Hermione's voice broke and Ron reached out to take her hand as a tiny sob escaped her. She squeezed his hand feebly, and she looked back up to Remus with glassy eyes.

“Remus, I know I haven't always been the greatest—er, cheerleader for your and Harry's relationship, especially in those first few months, but what you did to him...how _could_ you?” A tear streaked her cheek as she spoke, and Ron watched for Remus's reaction. His free hand closing into a fist while he watched Remus's blank expression remain unchanged in response to Hermione's words and Ron fought the urge to hit him again. Not that Remus didn't deserve it, but Hermione was upset enough without him making it worse.

 

Remus was quiet for a long time. He turned from Ron and Hermione gazed at the glowing embers in the fire grate.

“I did not expect this to happen,” Remus said at last, voice barely above a whisper, “I thought that because I could not feel him through the bond any more that that meant that I had somehow managed to break it. I had no idea that I had blocked it.

“You both know, I assume, about Harry's dreams and my wolf's—er, reactions,” Remus continued, and both Ron and Hermione went rather red at that. The older man continued as though he hadn't noticed.

“I did not want this for Harry—I _still_ don't. I do not want him cursed as I am.” Remus raked a hand through his hair, and still did not turn to face the pair. “I fled out of fear to Greyback's pack, and I was accepted there, though I made no mention of what brought me to that decision. I know that Greyback would grasp at any chance to have someone like Harry Potter under his thumb.”

“So all this...it was to _save_ Harry?” Ron sneered a little as he spoke, and ignored Hermione's hiss of warning as Remus finally turned to refocus his gaze on Ron. His eyes were blazing with warning, hurt, and the faintest inkling of shock at Ron's tone. Ron ignored all of this as he pressed on. “Bollocks. You must have known what happens to the human half of these...partnerships when the bond is being blocked by the werewolf. It's a wonder Harry isn't dead already, and you're treating this like you're the one making some sort of noble sacrifice? From where I'm sitting, it looks like fear that _if_ Harry is turned, you're afraid he won't choose you again, when this bond dissolves.”

Remus looked as though he'd been slapped, while Hermione was staring at Ron as though he'd grown a third eye. Slowly, Remus stood as his shock shifted to frustration, and Ron mirrored him, jumping to his feet and he took a few steps forward while he ignored Hermione's soft hiss of, “ _Ron,_ _don't!_ ”

“I told you,” Remus said evenly, “I had no idea that I was merely blocking the bond, I thought I had managed to break it. If— _when_ Harry wakes, it will be his decision whether he wants me in his life or not, but I _will not_ allow him to be turned if I have the power to stop it.”

“And literally _everyone_ has told you that he's already partially turned,” Ron replied, meeting Remus's eyes with a glare, and Remus let out a low growl. Ron knew enough about werewolves that this was a sign of challenge, and while he didn't know whether he actually stood a chance of beating Remus in a fight or a duel, that didn't mean he wasn't going to try. “As far as we know, Harry's turning now is pretty inevitable. What're you gonna do when he becomes like you? Slink away and leave him to deal with it all alone? Hermione and me want to help, but _you_ are the one who will know what he'll be going through and still you're running of like a scared little—”

Ron did not manage to finish his taunt as Remus's control snapped and he lurched forward with a very lupine growl. His hand closed over Ron's throat, and Ron gritted his teeth as he felt his airway momentarily constrict as he was forced back into the nearby wall. The force of the shove would definitely bruise, but he refused to show this man how much his little move had hurt him. Distantly, he heard Hermione let out a little scream, but he kept his eyes fixed on the werewolf—his gaze now filled with anger and hurt.

“I want to help Harry,” Remus said, his tone softer than Ron had expected it to be, though he was reluctant to feel sorry for Remus, given that the werewolf's hand was still at his throat. “I do, really I do. But neither do I want to condemn him.”

Remus squeezed Ron's throat one more time in warning, pushed off of him hard enough that his head knocked back against the stone wall, and he stalked off.

“Some Gryffindor,” Ron muttered, and moved to chase after the cowardly wolf, but Hermione's voice stopped him short.

“Leave him, Ron,” she said, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, “he has enough on his mind without you antagonizing him.”

Ron frowned and walked stiffly over to the sofa where Hermione sat. He pulled her into a tight embrace, which she returned at once, and again he felt another flare of anger on Harry's behalf. He couldn't even _imagine_ putting Hermione through what Remus had done to Harry. Silently, he hoped against hope that they'd find a way to reverse all this so that Harry could go back to having something of a normal life again. At the same time however, he seriously doubted it.

  

~*~

  

In the days to come, Remus hardly left Harry's side. Ron and Hermione kept a very close watch on the couple; recent event gave them no reason to trust the werewolf. Hermione used every excuse in the book to check on the pair, as did Ron, and each trip to the master bedroom was met with a low, protective growl from Remus. When he was in Harry's presence, Remus was almost feral, like a wolf in a human body. He would curl around Harry and draw his apparently unconscious, skeletal body close, and would not allow either of them to approach. Ron found it highly unsettling, but if Hermione shared his feelings on the older man's strange behaviour, she didn't show it.

Harry slept so frequently it was almost as though he was back in the same comatose state as before. Remus lay with him, whispering to him and stroking his hair, while Harry clung to him like the older man was some sort of strange, living teddy bear.

At first, the sight of them together like that made Ron more than a little uncomfortable. It had little to do with sexuality or gender, and more to do with the fact that Ron felt as though he was intruding on a very private moment between them. Though he was still of the mind that breaking the bond would be best for both Remus and Harry, he could not help but harbour a spark of hope at the sight of Remus tending to Harry so diligently. Maybe Remus really _had_ learned his lesson, and they'd be able to patch things up—though Ron doubted it.

 

For the first week, Harry seemed too exhausted to stay awake long enough to eat, and in his waking hours he seemed stressed and confused. He regarded Remus like he was a stranger, but at the same time he held onto him so tightly it was as though he was petrified that Remus might suddenly disappear.

“What's going on?” Ron hissed to Hermione one evening after he had brought up some supper for the pair. He'd returned to the main level and he was sitting on the sofa next to Hermione, who was poring over a thick and dusty tome that she'd dug out of the Black Library. Ron had no idea how she could even read the thing—beyond the fact that it was so old that the pages were practically crumbling under her light touch, it didn't appear to be in any sort of language that he recognized. “I thought when Remus came back Harry would get better, not worse.”

“I don't know,” Hermione replied with a heavy sigh, and raked a hand through her hair as she flicked to the next page. “I think...I mean, I'm not sure, but...I have a feeling that Remus might still be blocking the bond. There's this passage in here about how if the werewolf maintains a block while in the presence of their mate it makes things very confusing for the human...and something about a sense of abandonment, I don't know...this is in some kind of wonky Latin, so I'm not sure of all the details...” she sighed heavily, sat up, and cast a brief glance towards the staircase. Ron took her hand, and Hermione's gaze dropped to their intertwined fingers. She let out a soft sob, and immediately brought her free hand to her mouth.

“I _hate_ this Ron,” she said with a sniffle, “we're supposed to be doing boring life things like picking out colour schemes and hors d'oeuvres for our wedding, not keeping our best friend from dying because his partner is bring an enormous prat.” She untangled her hand from Ron's and wiped her eyes, “I thought after everything with Red Moon things would finally go back to normal. I didn't think this... _mess_ would happen.”

“Let's face it,” Ron said with a weak smile, “our lives defied all things average the moment we became friends with Harry Potter.”

Hermione laughed weakly, and folded herself into Ron's arms as she dissolved into tears. He patted her hair gently and let her cry. Harry had to get better—he just _had_ to. 

 

~*~

 

Both Ron and Hermione cashed in their saved up holiday time off (which they had been planning on using for their honeymoon) in order to stay at Grimmauld Place and keep an eye on Remus and Harry. In particular, to ensure that Remus didn't take off in the dead of night. Ron wasn't certain that he'd actually take off at this point, but he didn't want to take the chance of Remus bolting again, and as a result, they'd taken up residence in Harry's guest room.

Ron's free time was spent keeping a close eye on Remus, as he considered the man to be something of a flight risk, if his recent behaviour was any indication. Hermione was still reading the old book she'd found, and had spent the last several days wrestling with the archaic text.

Harry's recent behaviour had led both of them to believe that Remus was still blocking the bond. How he was doing it was still something of a mystery to them, so too was how to get him to stop doing it. They had no other explanations for why Harry still seemed incapable of recognizing any of them—even Remus. 

 

“I wish we knew how to knock some sense into his thick skull,” Hermione hissed as she returned from her turn of checking on the couple Saturday evening. She looked how Ron felt—frustrated and miserable all at once. “Can't he _see_ that blocking the bond it hurting Harry, not helping him?” Hermione sat down heavily upon the sofa next to Ron. “He'll will be dead in a fortnight if Remus keeps this up.”

“I can hit him again if you like,” Ron replied, and grinned a little when she swatted his shoulder.

“Not funny, Ronald,” she said, though the corner of her mouth had twitched into the shadow of a smile. “A concussion isn't going to help us. Besides, I think the blocked bond might be getting to Remus too, now.”

“How d'you mean?” Ron asked, sitting up a little straighter at Hermione's words.

“Well, when I went to check on them just now, Remus seemed almost...feral.”

 

_Feral._

 

Something of the word made something click in his brain. He turned and glanced outside to see the progression of moonrise—the _full_ moon. When he spoke, his voice shook, and he prayed that he was just seeing things, and the moon wasn't as full as it seemed to be.

“H-Hermione...what phase of the moon is it tonight?” When he turned to her, he saw that she had gone very white.

“Oh...Oh, God,” she whispered, horror-struck.

“You...” Ron began, his voice still shaking, “you didn't happen to notice a goblet in Harry's room...one that might've contained a recent dose of wolfsbane potion or something?” he asked weakly, and the answer to his question came to them at once.

Somewhere above them, a garbled, part-human, part-lupine howl rent the air. Hermione's skin had gone beyond white and now seemed rather grey, almost tinged with green. The sound made the hairs on Ron's arms stand up on end, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

“We have to get out of here,” Ron said as he jumped to his feet, but Hermione hadn't moved. She appeared to be frozen in a state of shock. “ _Now,”_ he dragged Hermione to her feet, and she let out a whine of protest.

“Oh, but...but...what about Harry?” She asked, though Ron was already rushing her to the front door.

“He'll be fine, hang on... _speculari!_ ” Ron flicked his wand and a tiny jet of blue light shot from his wand, up the staircase and around the corner just as the huge, hulking mass of Remus's werewolf form appeared at the top of the stairs. The sight of it was bigger than Ron remembered, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as his fear gave way to blind terror.

“Out, Hermione! Out, _out, out, out_!” He pushed her forward, and they both made it outside just as the snarling, enraged beast tore down the stairs towards them. They slammed the door, and Hermione let out a squeak of fright as Moony's muzzle caught between the door and its frame, and it took both of them putting their full weight on the door to keep the werewolf from bursting through.

Hermione flicked her wand at Moony's exposed nose, using what Ron guessed was a Stinging Hex, as Moony yelped and pulled back just enough for the pair to slam the door shut. Hermione quickly put a number of locking and protective wards in place, which was lucky as her Stinging Hex stopped Moony for merely a fraction of a second, and the door rattled in its hinges as the werewolf slammed into it. They could hear him growling and snarling, but after a moment he seemed to give up on chasing after them, and the sound of Moony's heavy footfalls faded away.

“Oh Ron that was close,” Hermione breathed, her hand clutching at her heart, “what did you do? That spell...I don't think I've ever heard of it before.”

“That's got to be a first,” Ron said with a small laugh, and she scowled at him. Sensing the oncoming lecture for joking at a time like this, he quickly pressed on. “I learned it from my supervisor. It's sort of a surveillance spell. Watch. _Speculari Ostentare!_ ” At the incantation, another jet of electric blue light shot from the end of his wand and hovered in midair for a moment, then expanded into a large circle. He heard Hermione gasp softly, as they suddenly had a perfect view of Harry's bedroom.

“It's like a...a floating television or something,” she whispered, awestruck. “Why didn't you do this before? Surely it would've been easier than going up to check on them every hour.”

“Technically, it's illegal to perform it in private homes,” Ron explained, panting a little as his heart rate slowly returned to normal, “invasion of privacy and stuff. But this is a special case so I don't think it'll be an issue.”

They sat down on the front steps and watched as the werewolf returned to the bedroom. Ron felt his stomach lurch as the huge form of Moony approached the tiny, unmoving figure on the bed, his ears flattened against his head.

Ron flicked his wand once to add sound to the image, and the moment he did so they heard the werewolf let out a distressed whine. It was such a far cry from the vicious monster it had been not a full minute before that it gave Ron a strange sense of whiplash. He watched as Moony nudged Harry's cheek with his nose, then licked it gently. The sheer power of the creature showed in the small action, as Harry's head lurched upward from the small action, then fell limply against the duvet again. Ron reached out for Hermione and she met him halfway, their hands clutching onto one another as they watched the scene in tense silence.

“It's so weird,” Hermione whispered, unable to take her eyes off of the image of the huge werewolf. It nudged Harry gently a few more times, but he did not respond beyond a soft, almost inaudible moan of pain. Moony carefully climbed onto the bed and curled up around Harry like a furry, protective shield. “Seeing a werewolf being so...gentle, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Ron murmured, “I mean, Harry told us about it, but it's still kind of hard to believe.”

The pair watched in silence as Moony continued to shift and adjust his position around Harry, and was so gentle with him—like he was a precious, fragile artifact. Ron frowned a little, _too bad Remus's human half wasn't so good to him—if he was, maybe none of this would have happened,_ he thought, and a sudden gust of wind tousled their hair and made their robes flutter. Despite the season, it was cold, and Hermione shifted closer to Ron. He immediately shrugged off his outer robe and draped it over her shoulders without a word.

“I'm...” Hermione trailed off, her voice rather croaky as she stood, but continued to watch the image of Harry and Moony with a conflicted look in her eyes.

“Hermione?” Ron prompted when she didn't continue, and she shook her head a little, then turned to smile apologetically at him.

“I'm going to head back to our flat,” she said, though she sounded uncertain as she spoke. “For blankets and food. We should be close by...just in case.”

Ron reached for her hand, and tugged her gently towards him. He cradled her cheek in his hand, and kissed her once.

“I'll keep an eye on them, don't worry, all right?” He said, and tears immediately sprung to her eyes. Hermione threw herself at Ron, and he lurched back a little from the force of the embrace, but before he could ask, she pulled him in for another kiss, and he could feel her tears wet his cheeks.

Without a word she stood and disapparated, and was back in under five minutes. Her arms were leaden with the thick duvet from their bed, a muggle thermos of tea(a miraculous invention that had made his own father sing praises to the ingenuity of muggles for close to a fortnight after), and half a dozen bacon sandwiches each.

 

With the blanket draped over their shoulders, the couple curled up close together while they passed the thermos back and forth and ate their way through the sandwiches. They alternated between dozing and keeping an eye on the pair, though as it transpired, there was really no need. The werewolf stayed curled around Harry and whined almost continuously, while it seemed as though he was attempting to groom Harry's unkempt hair. Unfortunately, the werewolf saliva did little more than make it stick up more than usual.

 

As evening passed into night, Ron found that no matter how long he watched Moony with Harry, he could not shake his shock at how gentle the werewolf was with him. A werewolf _not_ on the wolfsbane potion, he kept reminding himself, which added to the distinct strangeness of the scene. A werewolf in its natural state...and Harry was still in one piece.

The thing that surprised Ron the most however, was Harry himself.

It was as though Harry had come back to life. He was squirming on the bed, whining as he attempted to burrow into the thick wolf fur, as though no matter what he did, he couldn't get close enough to Moony to be comfortable. With each movement, Moony would tend to him by nudging him with his muzzle, or lick his cheek, or shift to cover Harry and protect him from any potential threat that might come their way. Ron could see the shine of tear tracks on Harry's cheeks, but this time he knew that they were not tears of anguish, but ones of relief—of joy. Ron couldn't say how exactly he knew, especially when Hermione routinely reminded him that he had the emotional range of a teaspoon, but despite that, he just _knew_.

Ron turned his gaze from the image briefly to look at Hermione, who was dozing with her head on his shoulder. He tightened his hold on her a little, and ghosted a kiss against her temple, lightly enough that it did not rouse her. Relief swelled in him, and he turned back to the image and continued his watch.

 

“There's one thing I don't understand,” Ron mumbled sleepily as he gently roused Hermione so that he could take his turn sleeping.

“What might that be?” Hermione asked as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.

“Why is Moony unblocking the bond _now_? I mean, they were apart for more than one full moon, why didn't the wolf part of Remus's brain unblock it then?”

“Not a lot's known about werewolf magic,” Hermione replied while she stifled a yawn. “Maybe Moony needs to be with Harry in order to unblock it or something?”

“Maybe...” Ron trailed off while he studied the pair, and yawned again. “I'm sorry, maybe we can talk about it later.”

“S'okay,” she replied with another yawn of her own, and with his head propped against Hermione's, he slowly nodded off.

 

At roughly half-six the following morning Ron ended the spell. The sun had begun to rise, and he saw Remus convulse as he began to change back. He had no desire to see Remus's full monty, and he quickly flicked his wand to dissolve the image.

“Hermione,” Ron murmured, but she didn't move. She was still fast asleep with her cheek against his shoulder, and he gave her a soft shake. “Hermione, wake up, it's morning.”

“Hmm?” She sat up and blinked her eyes a few times, then stifled a cavernous yawn. “Oh, is it safe to go back in?”

“Yeah, he just changed back. C'mon,” he said as he stood and pulled Hermione up. With their feet dragging, they slipped inside as quietly as they could, shuffled to the sofa, and collapsed onto it in a tangle of exhausted limbs. Both were far too tired to drag themselves up to the second floor.

“Kreacher?” Ron called out groggily, uncertain whether or not the elf would answer him. Thankfully, he wandered into the sitting room and eyed the couple curiously.

“Mister Weasley called?” The elf croaked, his eyes flitting from Ron to Hermione and back again.

“Hermione and I are dead on our feet,” Ron explained as they rearranged themselves into something almost comfortable as he continued to speak to the ancient elf. “D'you think you could bring some food up to Remus and Harry, and keep an eye on them for us? I mean if Harry starts looking...worse, could you wake us up? We just need to sleep for a couple of hours.” Ron's voice was croaky and he longed to just lie down and sleep, but he staved off his exhaustion as best he could while he spoke to the elf. Kreacher bowed low to each of them in turn by way of response, deeply enough that Regulus's locket scraped gently against the stone floor.

“Kreacher will watch,” he replied reassuringly. “Does Mister Weasley and Miss Granger require nightclothes, or perhaps some breakfast before they sleep?” He asked. Hermione was already too exhausted to protest Ron doing anything that might resemble an order to the elf, and had already nodded off against Ron's shoulder. Ron shook his head and smiled weakly while he pulled the duvet more securely over himself and Hermione.

“Just keep Harry safe for us,” he said, and Kreacher bowed deeply. With a sharp _crack_ the elf disappeared, and Ron was asleep before his head hit the cushions.

Above them, tangled in the embrace of his partner, Harry let out a low moan and began to stir.


	10. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaand we're back to Harry's POV.

Chapter 10 – Awakening

 

Harry's head spun.

At first, he wasn't sure why he felt so strange, so _off._ He felt so at peace, yet so very wrong at the same time. A hand was in his hair was stroking it gently—feather-light touches that he recognized. But after everything, had Remus _actually_ come back? Harry had a hard time believing it; certainly it was just Hermione, or Ginny, or someone that wasn't Remus. The thought made his heart sink, and as much as he longed to lose himself in his dreams again, something kept pulling him inexorably towards consciousness.

Slowly, and reluctantly, Harry opened his eyes. His eyelashes clung together slightly, and he felt momentarily confused—how long had he been asleep? What had _happened_?

Immediately, flashes of memory assaulted his senses.

Remus returning, the low, familiar thrum of his voice, his embrace.

 

“ _I'm here, Harry._ ”

 

Harry moaned lowly. Why was he so _confused_?

The moment the vocalization passed his lips the hand in his hair stilled, and whoever it was gathered Harry closer to them. The heat of the body, the heady scent of everything he associated with Remus hung heavily in the air, but even so it was difficult to believe that it was actually him. Harry felt as though his head was in a fog, but at the same time it felt as though he was being pulled in half a dozen directions at once.

Harry was thrilled that Remus had finally returned, but at the same time, he wanted to rage at the man. How _dare_ he leave him like this. How _dare_ he utterly shatter everything that they had. Harry whimpered again, and Remus automatically shifted closer to him.

Remus was spooned around him, naked, and something in the way he moved told Harry that it was likely not long after the full moon—he was moving sluggishly, but with enough energy that Harry supposed it must be at least a few days since the full moon. Why he was naked Harry had no idea, and the sensation of his closeness was both wonderful and awful all at once.

Harry was tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. The small action of opening his eyes had exhausted him, and Harry more than ready to close them again. He didn't focus on Remus—his presence was too confusing to think on, and instead he lent his attention to trying to shake off his fatigue.

Harry now knew that anything involving Remus would ultimately lead to heartbreak, and he _didn't_ want to be happy to see him. In spite of this desire, he could feel his heart soaring at his warm body heat brushing Harry's skin, and the way the scent of him completely enveloped him like a warm blanket. It took all of his strength to not roll over and pull Remus into a hungry kiss.

In an effort to distract himself from his partner, Harry dropped his eyes to look at himself, but he almost wished that he hadn't. What he saw was shocking— _beyond_ shocking, and he inhaled sharply at the sight of it.

Even through his bedclothes, Harry could clearly see it. His skin was stretched tightly over his bones, his stomach was concave, and his entire body seemed to be utterly emaciated—like a Holocaust victim photograph come to life. Harry could guess that Remus had heard his gasp of shock, because the steady puffs of breath against the back of his neck abruptly ceased.

 

“Harry?” Remus asked tentatively while his hand trailed down his side. It wrapped delicately around Harry's waist and Remus held onto him as though he was made of glass. The gentle touches deeply unnerved Harry, and he clenched his eyes shut while he took a deep, shuddering breath. At last, he forced himself to speak.

“What happened to me?” Harry croaked, his voice low and raspy. How long had it been since he'd spoken, Harry wondered, and he felt another wave of confusion assault his senses. It felt like he could have been out for only a day or two, but how long had it actually been? Harry shivered, and Remus drew him closer. The sensation was still deeply confusing for him, and again he felt the conflicting feelings of joy and anguish fill him at the older man's touch.

“It's—my fault,” Remus murmured, and paused to help Harry roll over. Remus's face was lined with guilt, which made him look even more fatigued than he usually did following a full moon. His hand moved to cradle Harry's cheek, and he began to lean into the touch, but froze at the last minute. He _didn't_ want to forgive Remus—not for this. Remus had left him, _abandoned_ him. Harry didn't want to be happy to see him, yet at the same time every instinct in him was all but screaming at him for his minor rejection of the werewolf's touch. Remus, to his credit, seemed to recognize the small motion of unease, and retracted his hand.

The moment Remus pulled the appendage away, Harry felt himself missing it. He clenched his eyes shut again and tried to focus. There were more pressing matters at hand than their marital problems.

Primarily, Harry was confused as to what Remus had done to cause this unsettling transformation in his physique. At the same time, while he was certain that it was Remus's fault, he was uncertain _how_ he could have been the cause of it when the last thing Harry remembered was Remus running away from him, not cursing him.

“What do you remember?” Remus asked tentatively after a moment of silence, and Harry looked away as he struggled to recall what had happened, and _how_ he could possibly have turned into a living skeleton.

“I remember going to find you, then waking up in Grimmauld Place with Ron and Hermione,” Harry mumbled, wincing at his hoarse tone of voice. One of Remus's hands moved to rub his back in a gentle, loving caress; the gentleness of the contact bothered him, but for the moment Harry felt too drained, both emotionally and physically, to protest it. “I—I don't understand. How long has it been? What happened to me?”

“It's been a little over a month,” Remus murmured, his gaze fixed anywhere but on Harry, and Harry could see the guilt burning in his amber eyes. The information hit Harry like a blow to the chest. _A month?_ Harry thought back, but his memory was blank. How could he have missed an entire month? He turned his head away slightly, feeling strangely ill, and Remus's arm tensed around him, as though afraid Harry might pull away.

“What happened to me?” Harry repeated the question, his heart racing in his chest. He was almost afraid to know what could have happened to cause such a dramatic loss of time. He tried to sit up, but Remus was still holding tightly to him. After a brief moment's hesitation he loosened his grip, Harry sat up with a soft groan, and he raked his fingers through his greasy and unkempt hair.

“I—” Remus began, but cut himself off quickly. He looked so guilty, but Harry was mystified as to _why. What did Remus do this time?_ Harry wondered, swallowing thickly. “I blocked our bond,” he said at last, and Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. He had had a vague inkling that that was the cause of his current state, but that did not make hearing it any easier.

“I—I thought that I mad managed to break the bond,” Remus continued, his voice shaking a little as it dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I thought that it would be better this way...I didn't want you fully turned, I couldn't curse you with this...this _affliction_. I thought it would be better for you if I left so that you could have some kind of a normal life. I wrongly assumed that you wouldn't suffer because of my crass mistake.”

Harry felt sick.

His fingers curled around the edge of the duvet they lay on, but Harry couldn't grip it as tightly as he would have liked. Harry felt his eyes burn, and he forced himself to roll away from Remus so that the older man would not see his tears. He wanted to rage, he wanted to scream at Remus for doing this to him, he wanted to hate him.

But he couldn't.

A stronger part of him just wanted Remus to hold him and never let go.

The strong, conflicting emotions made Harry's head spin, and in an effort to keep from succumbing to tears, Harry forced himself to speak.

“Why did you come back?” He asked thickly, and flinched when he felt Remus reach out to gently brush his shoulder. The hand retracted quickly.

“Hermione sought me out,” Remus replied in a dull tone of voice, “she entered Fenrir's territory on her own, and nearly got herself killed looking for me. Through her, Fenrir found out what I had done and to say he wasn't pleased would be putting it mildly. She made me come back.”

“You don't even want to be here, do you?” Harry said, and winced when his voice cracked. He paused to clear his throat, and tried again. “You came back out of guilt. You're going to leave me again as soon as I'm strong enough, aren't you?”

The silence was answer enough.

Remus did not try to touch him. They lay in awkward, painful silence, until Remus stood up, dressed, and slipped out the door.

Harry curled in on himself. His fingers dug into the edge of the blanket. A solitary tear streaked his cheek. He had never felt so alone. 

 

~*~

 

The days passed slowly for Harry, he did not know when one ended and the next began. They all bled together into one miserable existence, and the only constant was Kreacher, Hermione, and Ron, all with the same purpose: Feeding Harry.

It made Harry feel like a child, they way they'd come to him every hour or so with small portions of broth and soft foods, just trying to get him to eat. At first, he was reluctant. What was the point? Harry wondered. The moment he was healthy again Remus was going to take off, and he would be alone again. He was so angry at Remus; angry that he had done this to him, angry that he had abandoned him, angry that he had done something so _stupid_. At the same time however, the idea of losing him again was unthinkable.

 

“Please Harry,” Hermione had said tearfully two days after he's woken up properly, while she held out a bowl of chicken broth to him, “you need to eat.”

“What's the point?” Harry mumbled while he dropped his gaze from his friend to stare miserably at the duvet. “The second I'm well again Remus is gonna bolt. Nothing I do can make him stay, so why should I even bother?”

“Because Remus being a thickheaded git isn't worth throwing your life away over,” Ron said from the door, his arms crossed. “We'll work it out, we always do. But first we need you to eat so that you can get your strength back and hash it out with him properly.”

Harry lifted his gaze back up to them, and he swallowed thickly. He could see that they both carried a look in their eyes that told Harry that one way or another, they were going to get some food into him. Though he had absolutely no appetite, Harry gave in and took the bowl from Hermione grudgingly. He drained the broth slowly, but even taking it slowly the sudden food intake made his stomach cramp, though he managed to keep it down. Hermione beamed.

“One step at a time,” Hermione said encouragingly, while she perched at the end of the bed. “We just need to get you back to normal, then you and Remus can work all this out.” She exchanged a significant look with Ron, but Harry hadn't the foggiest idea what it meant.

“I'm not sure if there's anything left to work out,” Harry muttered, and took another sip of the broth. _Except maybe to say our goodbyes._ The thought made Harry want to cry. Even after being lucid for forty-eight hours, the conflicting emotions had yet to abate. Harry desperately wished that he could work out which was the stronger impulse, but he had yet to decide whether he truly wanted Remus to stay or go.

“The bond is making things more complex,” Hermione said gently, “it wants you to forgive him, but because it has begun to break, it's making the magic of it more intense and unpredictable.”

“Somehow, that isn't making me feel any better, Hermione,” he muttered, and handed the empty bowl back to her.

“I just mean, we'll get this sorted, and you and Remus will work things out...one way or another.”

From the door, Ron grunted derisively, and Harry silently shared his sentiment.

  

~*~

 

Harry's slow recuperation continued. He did not see Remus again following his awakening from his comatose state, but Harry knew that he was in the house.

It wasn't magic of the bond that indicated to Harry that he was near—Hermione's shrill yells as she berated Remus was proof enough that he was nearby. His presence calmed Harry, but only somewhat. The knowledge that he would leave at the first opportunity made it difficult to be entirely thrilled by it.

Often, Harry wondered if Remus came to see him after he'd fallen asleep. He wasn't certain if this was wishful thinking or an actual occurrence. However, Harry woke more than once in the middle of the night, and he was certain the cause of his abrupt waking was the sharp sound of his bedroom door snapping shut.

 

Harry's twenty-fourth birthday passed them by without a word from Harry or his friends. It was quite clear that Harry was in no fit state—both physically and mentally—for a celebration. Harry was still caught in a confused state of wanting to see Remus, and wanting to forcibly remove him from Grimmauld Place. Harry wondered often if these strange, conflicting feelings would calm if Remus was nearby, at least enough for them to discuss what was happening like mature adults. Unfortunately, Remus seemed to be doing everything in his power to give Harry 'space', though he could not see how the older man thought that this separation was in any beneficial. After a month of this unpleasant behaviour, Harry actually welcomed the presence of the full moon.

The oncoming moon enabled Harry to push his confused feelings towards Remus to the back of his mind as he prepared for an evening in the company of Moony—someone who actually _wanted_ to be with him. For the first time, Harry understood why Remus often referred to Moony as though he was another being entirely—without Remus's pesky and misguided morals in the way, it showed Harry Remus's heart in a way that Remus himself could not. Remus both wanted him and wanted nothing to do with him, and it felt to Harry like he was standing before a mirror and seeing his own feelings reflected back at him. He wanted Remus, but after everything, he also wanted nothing to do with the man. The symmetry was unnerving, and Harry had no idea what to make of it.

He was still on small meals, but he had gained a small amount of weight in that time, enough that his ribs were not as pronounced, but still quite visible. The oncoming moon burned in Harry like it never had before, and as he had anticipated, it was still early in the day when Remus finally came to him.

His presence, as it always had in recent days, filled Harry with a confusing mixture of joy and grief. He longed for Remus, and it hurt that he had no intentions to stay with him. Harry hated that he still wanted him—he hated that he still loved him so deeply.

Before Harry could stop it, he felt his eyes burn as they welled with tears. He drew up his bony knees to his chest and looked away from Remus, who was standing awkwardly in his doorway. Harry felt utterly pathetic, and hated that after everything, he could break so easily. Things had been going so well, then Remus, once again, shattered what they'd had into a million pieces. It wasn't _fair_.

“Don't,” Harry said as he heard the werewolf draw in a deep breath. “I know what you're going to say and just _don't_. Nothing you can say will justify you abandoning me. I just...I don't want to hear it.” Harry blinked rapidly, but he couldn't stop the tears that were now streaking his cheeks. He knew Remus was still there—he could hear his shallow breathing—but he couldn't bring himself to look at him.

“I don't want you to go,” Harry continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don't want you to leave me again. But nothing I can do will make you stay. I don't care anymore if it's our bond, or this partial-turning thing, or something else entirely.” Harry finally turned to face Remus, and narrowed his eyes at him. Remus flinched as though he'd been struck. “I _love_ you, you fucking idiot. I'll still love you if you disappear and never come back. And I _hate_ it.” His voice broke in a weak sob, and he buried his face in his hands as he cursed. No one had ever made him feel so _weak_ before—Not Malfoy, not Umbridge, not even Voldemort. And yet Remus had managed to shatter everything that he had been in a mere handful of months.

It took several minutes for Harry to calm down enough to look up, and he had a feeling he looked as bad as he felt, if the stricken look on Remus's face was any indication.

“We were good together, weren't we?” Harry asked softly, “why...why would want to cock it all up by doing this to me...to us? I lost my parents, I lost Sirius, I lost Dumbledore...Dobby, Fred...” Harry trailed off and shook his head. There were too many to name. “And now, I've lost you, too.”

“Harry,” Remus breathed his name, and he took a few tentative steps into the room. When Harry did not stop him, his resolve seemed to crumble and he hurried to his weakened partner and pulled him into an embrace. He buried his face in the crook of Harry's neck like he always did, and he could feel the dampness of the older man's tears stain his shirt. Harry held onto him tightly, afraid to let go. Part of him was distantly aware that letting Remus back in in any capacity was _not_ a good or healthy thing to do, but a larger part of him didn't have it in him to care.

“I'm so sorry,” Remus said thickly, “I just...what's happening to you...I got so scared, I don't...I don't want to curse you with this.”

“And taking off without a word is the best way to deal with these problems?” Harry asked weakly, and tugged on his jumper until he sat on the bed next to Harry. Remus clutched tightly onto Harry, almost painfully, as though he was afraid that he might vanish.

“I—I didn't know...about blocking the bond, I swear, I really didn't. I didn't know it was so serious. I would never have knowingly done this to you, you must understand that. I—” Harry cut Remus's words off with a kiss.

It had been so long, like he'd been in a desert and suddenly come upon an oasis. Remus clung to Harry as desperately as he clung to Remus, and he felt the scent and taste of Remus wash over him, and for the first time in ages, Harry felt completely at peace. He knew it was the bond at work, urging Harry to forgive and forget, and Harry still didn't want to do either of those things. At the same time however, in between the bond the the pull of the oncoming full moon, Harry's will was not entirely his own, and he let the sensation of Remus's kiss wash over him.

“I don't care what your excuses are, I don't care, I _really_ don't,” Harry whispered against his mouth, “I don't even know what's me and what's this bond anymore. I just...I don't want this to be over, but I want it to end, too.” Harry felt completely drained by the emotional outburst and he lay back down. Remus lay down at his side, his arm draped over Harry's abdomen, and he felt Remus tense slightly at his words. He rolled onto his side to face Remus, and his eyes studied the older man's face intently. He wore a blank mask, but Harry could still all but feel an anguish that mirrored his own radiating off of him. He leant in and brushed his lips over Harry's lightly.

“I'll—I will be here for as long as you want me to be,” he murmured, and Harry laughed bitterly. The empty sentiment hurt almost as much as Remus's initial abandonment had.

 

Remus stayed with Harry, holding him like he had so many nights before all this had begun. When Kreacher brought up his small meals every few hours, Remus would help Harry sit up and he took it upon himself to feed Harry like he had done when he had been hospitalized nearly a year before. As it had back then, it still felt both strange and intimate at the same time.

 

When the sky had begun to glow orange and red, there was a soft tapping on Harry's bedroom door, and he looked up to see Hermione poke her head in. Her cheeks immediately flushed cherry-red when she caught sight of the pair of them curled up together, but it did not deter her from whatever she'd come to say.

“Er, Ron and I are going, and we'll be back at sunrise,” Hermione said, not meeting Harry or Remus's eye. “Will you be okay tonight Harry?”

“I've had many a full moon with just Moony for company Hermione,” Harry replied with a faint smile, “I'll be fine.”

“O—okay then,” she said, smiling in return, and for once the gesture didn't seem forced. Hermione moved as though to leave, then paused and turned back to Harry. “It's good to have you back Harry,” she said softly, “we've missed you.”

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that, but nodded once in acknowledgement to her words. She slipped downstairs, and Harry heard the low thrum of her speaking to Ron, followed by the front door opening and closing.

“Alone at last,” Remus murmured into his ear as he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist from behind, and pressed a kiss to Harry's sharp shoulder blade.

“Not that we can do anything,” Harry replied, forcing a false chuckle, “I'm still not completely back to my old self and with moonrise so close...well, I don't know about you, but beastiality isn't exactly my thing.”

Harry knew that Remus's rekindled sex drive was the pull of the moon, and like Harry, Remus was not entirely in control of himself. For this, Harry could easily forgive him, because like the werewolf at his back, Harry, too, could feel its pull. He didn't dare voice the sensation he was feeling, now that he knew that anything that was more lycanthropic than human in nature was a surefire way to scare off his partner.

“Fair enough,” Remus replied, and leant forward to press a soft kiss to the side of Harry's throat. The sunset's colours deepened, and Remus untangled himself reluctantly from Harry and began to shed his clothes.

Harry watched in silence, and as the moon finally graced the sky, Remus's form bowed forward and he let out a soft groan, his form shifting to his werewolf alter-ego.

Harry had technically seen Moony at the last moon, but he hadn't been completely coherent then, and didn't remember much. It felt like months since the last time he'd seen the werewolf, and as the transformation reached completion, Harry couldn't help but stare. If he wasn't mistaken, Moony had gotten bigger since the last time he saw him— _much_ bigger _._ Still bear-like in size, he was much closer to a polar bear now than a black bear, and Harry felt momentarily alarmed by the sheer size of the animal that now occupied his bedroom.

Moony shook himself, turned, and caught sight of Harry sitting up. Tail high and wagging, he closed the five-foot distance between them in two strides, then bumped his muzzle against Harry's cheek affectionately.

The familiarity of the gesture made Harry laugh, and he reached up to card his fingers through the thick fur.

“Hey Moony,” Harry said softly, “it's been a while.”

The werewolf let out a short bark in response, then much to Harry's surprise, he turned, nosed the bedroom door open, and disappeared.

Harry stared in surprise at the empty doorway, and listened to the distant sound of Moony descending to the main level.

He hardly had time to ponder where he'd gone however before he returned, the handle of a wicker basket in his teeth, and a number of small handheld foods wrapped in a tea towel sat in the basket itself.

Moony set down the basket next to Harry upon the bedspread, then with an almighty groan from the protesting bed springs, he climbed up and curled up around Harry like an enormous, furry, protective shield. Harry leant into the werewolf's warm fur, while the creature whined softly and nudged the basket closer to him.

Taking the hint, Harry sat back up with a soft chuckle and began to rummage through the basket to see what Moony had brought him. He found apples, pears, bread rolls, and a tin of salted cashews.

“It's like a proper feast,” he said to Moony, whose enormous tail thumped against the mattress as he wagged it, and nudged Harry's cheek with his muzzle again.

Harry began to eat without protest, though after one apple and a handful of nuts his stomach began to feel almost uncomfortably full, and he pushed the basket away. Moony whined but didn't try to push him to eat more, while Harry, full and momentarily content, curled up in his mate's warmth and closed his eyes.

 

— _Harry tumbled arse over teakettle and landed on his back, panting harshly as Moony stood over him, his paws on either side of Harry's shoulders, to keep him down. Harry was entirely unconcerned with being caught, and happily exposed his belly to the Dominant wolf. Huffing his approval, Moony bowed forward and nuzzled his mate. Harry lifted his head to meet him halfway, yipping his pleasure as he was finally let up. He bumped his head against the side of Moony's jaw and took off again, more slowly this time to enable them to run side-by-side._

_They wove through the trees, running and playing, but as they came upon an open field they found a being blocking their path—a great black wolf with a streak of grey running down its back._

_Harry hesitated, unnerved by the new presence in their midst, but Moony approached the large wolf, head bowed a little as he regarded the alpha male. Despite the creature's threatening stance, he welcomed Moony readily like an old friend. Moony looked back to Harry, and with his mate's encouragement, he stepped forward nervously._

_The great wolf sniffed Harry thoroughly, a low growl present as he investigated him, then at last he stepped back, welcoming Harry too._

_Harry was quick to rejoin his mate, and with the alpha wolf in the lead, he led them through the field, up a steep incline and into a different clearing that housed well over twenty wolves—many of them young or adolescent cubs._

_The wolves surged around them in welcome. Harry was home._

 

Harry woke the following morning, the remnants of the dream burnt into his mind, and, for once, the memories of the dream did not disturb him, and he woke with a sensation of complete peace. Next to him, Remus lay stretched out and holding Harry close in an embrace that was both possessive and loving. It had been so long, Harry did not mind in the slightest the domineering, claiming subconscious attitude, and instead shifted closer into the embrace.

 _I don't know if I want to be a werewolf,_ Harry thought as he lay there, his mind going back to the reasons he was having the dreams to begin with, _but whatever happens, I know I want to be with Remus. If that means sacrificing my humanity...If maybe we can fix things...maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing in the world._

Harry knew better than to voice this thought to his lover, as it would likely only push him away again. He closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Remus's bare chest, his heart pounding in momentary panic at the thought of losing Remus again. He wasn't sure if he could handle it happening again.

In his sleep state Remus seemed to sense Harry's distress, and his hold on him tightened ever so slightly.

  

Remus woke a few hours later, and though Harry still wasn't at his best, he was in much better shape than Remus seemed to be, and he threw on his dressing gown before he headed downstairs to scare up some breakfast.

“Harry!”

The sudden squawk of a female voice made him jump as he reached the main level of the house, and he whirled around to catch sight of Ron and Hermione stepping back inside Grimmauld Place.

“It's so good to see you up and about again,” Hermione said as she rushed forward to pull him into a tight hug. In his weakened state, he could do little to fend her off, and instead stumbled clumsily into the embrace, and patted her back awkwardly until she let him go. “We were so worried about you,” she said earnestly, while Ron hung back and watched, though by the smile on his face it was clear that he shared Hermione's feelings.

“I'm getting there,” Harry said simply while he offered her a smile smile of reassurance. He motioned for them to follow him as he ventured farther into the house, eventually ending in the kitchen where Kreacher was piling a breakfast tray high with food.

“Master,” the house elf croaked, bowing low to him before returning to his work. “Kreacher is pleased to see you out of bed.”

“That seems to be the general consensus,” Harry replied, and both his friends grinned.

 

Using his wand, Harry left his friends downstairs and levitated the tray up the stairs and back to his bedroom. It was only when he'd set the tray down that Remus had begun to stir, and Harry carefully leant forward and kissed Remus gently.

As Remus woke, he pulled Harry closer, and a low growl escaped him as he did so.

“You smell like Hermione Granger,” he muttered darkly as he broke the kiss. Harry smiled weakly.

“She was a little too happy to see me when I went down to get you something to eat,” Harry murmured, and reached forward to kiss him again, “you have nothing to worry about; I'm still yours.”

 _But for how long?_ A pessimistic voice at the back of his mind asked, and Harry shook himself to be rid of it. For the moment, he didn't want to dwell on the loss that was likely to come, and merely embrace the moment.

The low, animalistic growl that escaped Remus sounded closer to a purr, and he pulled Harry close to devour his mouth again. He slid off Remus and landed on the bed next to him, letting out a soft moan as he clung to the older man, the breakfast momentarily forgotten.

Remus braced his arm next to Harry's head, boxing him in slightly. It was an action that no longer unsettled him; what did unsettle him however was Remus's apparent lack of exhaustion following the previous night's transformation. The realization gave Harry pause, and as Remus broke the kiss, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Is something wrong?” he asked while relaxed his position and lay back down next to Harry, but shifted his arm to drape it lazily across his chest. To any outside observer, the gesture may have appeared casual, but Harry could all but feel the possessive edge to it.

“Not wrong, exactly,” Harry said, and paused as he tried to work out what was different, and _why_ it was different. He suddenly sat up, doing so a little too quickly, and his head spun. He shook off the dizziness as best he could, and whipped his gaze over to Remus's night table, where he always set his empty goblet after drinking his monthly dose of wolfsbane.

Nothing was there.

“The potion...” Harry began uncertainly, and Remus wrapped an arm around his waist, giving him a small squeeze of reassurance, and slowly coaxed Harry back down onto the bed before he spoke.

“I suppose you were too incoherent to notice earlier,” Remus said softly, his tone of voice neutral, “I haven't been taking the wolfsbane potion for some time now.”

“But...why?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow as he tried to understand. “I thought that the potion helped you.”

“It does, in a way,” Remus replied, an edge of tension lacing his words, “but while I was...away, I met a potioneer who also happened to be a werewolf. He had more insight into what the potion does than I ever will, and while it's true that taking the potion allows me to keep my human mind at the full moon, it does so by repressing my natural urges—hunt, track, kill, mate.” Remus paused, and looked down at Harry, “and protect. Taking it over long periods of time means when a dose is missed, the werewolf that emerges is more violent and bloodthirsty than it normally would be.”

“So basically, you stopped taking it, ran with a pack, and things were...er, better?” Harry asked trying to keep his tone neutral, though if the look on Remus's face was any indication, he had failed quite spectacularly.

“It means I'm stronger, I'm less weakened following the full moon, and I'm more clearheaded, yes,” Remus said, “it doesn't mean that I'm going to leave you again.”

Harry nodded a little, and at last the pair sat up and started on the enormous breakfast that Kreacher had prepared for them. The promise sounded empty to Harry, and without the moon's pull affecting his thoughts, he found Remus's sentiment hard to believe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As with the assault in book one, I had a really hard time trying to contrast the magic of the bond utterly fucking up Harry's mental headspace with a realistic reaction to emotional abuse on this scale. I hope I did all right, and if anyone feels like it was unrealistic, please call me out on it. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


	11. For The Best

Chapter 11 – For The Best

 

Following the full moon, Remus seemed to think that things were back to normal.

At least, that was the face he projected to Harry.

The implication that after _everything_ Remus felt that he could go back to how things were without anyone batting an eyelash deeply unsettled Harry. Remus's touch no longer felt warm and welcoming, but confusing, and beyond that there was something else to Remus now—something _different._

That wasn't to say that Remus was hurting him physically or emotionally, but ever since Harry had woken up, he couldn't help but notice that Remus had a certain _aura_ to him now. Something that hadn't been there before.

It hadn't clicked with Harry at first, but as time went by it became quite obvious what was going on.

Remus woke Harry in the mornings.

Remus told Harry when to eat, and hand-fed him.

Remus told Harry when to sleep.

Harry felt deeply chilled when after three weeks and another approaching moon he'd worked out what the older man was doing. When Remus was occupied with one task or another, Harry called Ron and Hermione to his room (which he was still more or less confined to) and told them in hushed tones about his observations and worries. While Ron looked horrified, Hermione, in contrast, looked thoughtful.

“Harry, I don't think he's doing it to hurt you—I'm not even sure he realizes that he's doing it at all,” she began, but Ron cut her off with an indignant sputter before she could continue.

“Hermione, that's like... _textbook_ abusive spouse behaviour,” Ron said angrily, “how could you possibly think about defending him?”

“I'm _not_ , Ronald,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “I just mean I don't think he sees it as a level of control the way that we do.”

“What d'you mean?” Harry asked tentatively. “I mean, after everything, I'm starting to think he's not beyond anything...” he trailed off with a grimace, and both of his friends looked on sympathetically. He felt his face burn under their gazes, and he looked away as Hermione continued to speak.

“I mean that Remus has spent the last few months in a werewolf pack, embracing his lycanthropy and his Dominant tendencies for the first time...well, ever,” Hermione explained, “he is the only true werewolf here, and he likely sees Harry as pack, but below him in standing. It's likely not even a conscious though, more an instinctual thing, he might feel that this is the best way for him to help and protect Harry. He's assumed an alpha role.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel any better?” Harry asked miserably, “Hermione, he—he's starting to scare me. What if he—” Hermione cut him off before he could finish the question.

“He won't, Harry,” she said firmly, “I _know_ that he won't. This isn't like before, when he was half-mad by the impending full moon. It's his way of protecting you. If it's worrying you so much, try talking to him about it, maybe?”

“Yeah, 'cause that worked out _so_ well for me last time...” Harry grumbled.

Hermione smiled sadly, but didn't answer. 

 

~*~

  

It continued.

The weeks began to bleed together, and the next full moon passed without a hitch, but the domineering behaviour didn't abate. Under Remus's watchful eye he regained his weight slowly, and despite his concerns over Remus's behaviour, Harry began to feel something like himself again. The seasons changed around him, and the green leaves of the trees began to turn to red and gold. In late September, Hermione and Ron moved back to their flat, content that Harry wasn't likely to drop dead if left alone, nor did it seem like Remus was going to take off again.

Ron was very reluctant to leave, especially in light of this new level of control Remus was using with Harry. Harry knew that he could fend Remus off if it came to that, and was not wholly unconcerned about being left alone with him. At the same time however, Harry could not deny that this new personality was far from reassuring. What had happened to the kind, docile man that he had fallen for in the first place? This drastic change in his personality ached in him almost as much as his initial abandonment had.

Harry was still far too skinny, but with his steady weight gain Remus had begun to dog his steps less and less. It was a relief, and ever so slowly the unnerving domineering attitude began to fade into the background. Much to Harry's relief, Remus began to seem more like himself again—that is, until Harry made the poor decision to suggest that it might be time for him to go back to work. In an instant, Remus's protective instincts shot to the forefront.

“No. Absolutely not,” Remus said firmly while he brought out his barely-used _no arguments_ tone of voice.

“You're not my mother,” Harry countered, his brow furrowing in anger as he glared at his partner from across the dinner table. The comment earned him a hard look, but Harry didn't back down.

“No, but I am your partner,” he said, and Harry couldn't help but snort derisively. A flash of hurt crossed the older man's features, but he continued as though he hadn't noticed it. “You're still too weak to go back to work Harry, so don't even think about it.”

“You can't just keep me here like some...some _kept boy._ I _hate_ sitting here like a lump,” Harry pushed away the remnants of his half-finished dinner, and leant back in his chair a little. “I'm not helpless, I need to get back out into the world.” Remus reached across the table and took Harry's hands, and he started slightly at the sudden contact. Harry refocused his gaze on the werewolf, but the domineering look he'd seen so often of late was gone, and in place was the familiar expression of the Remus he'd always known— _his_ Remus. The concern Harry saw there, and the overbearing worry drained Harry's antagonism from him in an instant.

“You've never been helpless,” Remus said reassuringly, “ _but_ you aren't back to your full strength yet. Going back to work now would be a waste, you need to gain some more weight—”

“I've come back to Hogwarts skinnier than this, it's nothing new,” Harry replied as evenly as he could manage, but he could feel his anger beginning to flare again. He wrenched his hands out of Remus's and jumped up from his chair. “I'm not some fragile wilting flower, Remus,” Harry said as he began to pace, “I don't need your permission to go back to work, not after—”

Harry hadn't seen him move.

Large hands closed over his wrists and stopped his pacing. Remus caught Harry with his hard, amber gaze. Harry froze, alarmed by the look he saw displayed there. It was so close to dangerous that Harry felt his breath momentarily catch as his anger gave way to fear. Harry had no idea what to say, and he swallowed thickly as he stared back into his eyes defiantly. He knew full-well that Remus's wolf would protest this show of challenge. At the moment however, Harry was too angry with Remus to care.

The hands at his wrists tensed and Remus's lip curled back to show his teeth, a gesture so canine it looked strange on a human. It was even more unnerving to see on the face of a man who was usually so even-tempered. When Harry did not back down, something in Remus seemed to snap as he released Harry's wrists, took a single step back.

He kept his gaze focused on Harry, and Harry watched with mounting confusion as Remus shed all of his clothes with a flick of his wand, and tossed the implement aside before he shifted smoothly into his werewolf alter-ego much more quickly than Harry thought possible. It was such a smooth transformation in fact, that had Harry not known what Remus was, he may have mistook the change for an Animagus transformation.

It was obvious that Remus been practising during his time away, but at the moment Harry did not feel compelled to congratulate him on his accomplishment. Harry took a nervous step back, and Moony snarled.

Harry's eyes bulged with shock and fear. Moony stepped forward, and his fear tripled in an instant.

“M-Moony?” he asked tentatively, his voice escaping him as little more than a squeak. Moony crouched and his back legs tensed, and Harry hissed a curse as he scrambled to get out of the way, and he avoided the lunging attack by less than a hair.

Panic set in, overlaid with confusion as to _why_ Moony was going after him like this, and Harry bolted from the dining room. He could hear Moony's claws skitter across the stone floor as he wheeled around him for a second attempt, but even with the short head-start Harry had gotten, his speed would never be able to match a werewolf's. A strangled cry escaped him as Moony's full weight collided with him, and Harry was knocked to the floor. His glasses flew off his face and shattered, and he gasped in pain as his temple knocked against the hard stone.

With a groan of pain Harry rolled over to face the snarling, angry werewolf. Moony pressed a huge paw into the centre of his chest to keep him from getting up, and Harry felt mildly sick with fright.

 _Why is Remus doing this?_ He wondered miserably, through his fog of panic, and he felt terribly betrayed by this turn of events. Heart was pounding out a wild rhythm in his chest, it took Harry a moment to work through his blinding terror and understand that Moony was waiting for. Moony growled again, and he realized that the werewolf was waiting for Harry to submit to him. Trembling a little from his shock and fright, Harry swallowed his pride and exposed his throat.

Hot breath and sharp teeth enclosed Harry's throat for barely a second, then just as suddenly Remus was laying atop him, sweat-soaked and panting harshly as he stood on trembling limbs and extended a hand to Harry. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out to take it, and Remus helped him up.

He silently guided Harry into to the sitting room and forced him onto the sofa while he stepped out of the room, presumably to put some clothes on. His face carried no sign that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, and that, above anything else, was what unnerved Harry the most.

Normally, Remus would apologize for his overt, domineering werewolf tendencies, but this time he offered up no such thing. Harry was still rather shaken by the encounter with Moony, and he watched Remus's retreating back with wide, uncertain eyes. Was there any limit to his behaviour now, or was he just as bad as the stereotypical savage beasts that werewolves used to be painted as by the Ministry?

Remus returned in under five minutes, straightening his jumper as he went. He stepped back over to Harry, and crouched before him, handing back Harry's glasses silently. Once Harry had pulled them on, Remus took his hands and stared at him intently. This time, Harry did not meet his eye. After what had just happened he felt nervous and jumpy, and he immediately tried to yank his hands back, but Remus tightened his grip and didn't let him go.

“I do not think you are weak, or helpless,” Remus said, his intense stare paired with his forceful tone gave Harry pause, and he momentarily stopped trying to yank his hands away while he listened to the older man. “What I _do_ think is that you don't let yourself properly heal before you force yourself to get back to your normal routine. I want you safe, Harry, and that means I want you to take the time to get your old strength back _before_ you go back to chasing down dark wizards.”

“And how does attacking me as a werewolf factor into all of this?” Harry asked with a frown. His betrayed tone caused Remus's expression to harden, and his hands tensed over Harry's. The lack of apology in Remus's gaze deeply unsettled Harry, but he forced himself to keep still and quiet while he waited for the older man to explain himself.

“You wouldn't listen to me otherwise,” Remus said simply, and Harry recoiled a little at his words. His even, matter-of-fact tone was deeply unnerving. Harry was _certain_ that this was a residual frame of mind left over from his time spent with Greyback—to solve problems with his teeth instead of his words.

Remus seemed to sense Harry's unease, and he reached up to brush his thumb over Harry's cheek. The gentle touch so soon after the attack was startling, and he flinched out of reflex. Remus's hand froze, and he slowly retracted the appendage, his lips pulling into a frown.

“I'm sorry if I frightened you Harry,” Remus murmured, “I am scared for you. I want you safe, and I want you well. You can't push yourself like this, I won't let you.”

The jumble of sentiments made Harry dizzy, and he glanced away from the pleading look in the older man's eyes. He tried to take his hands back again, and this time Remus relented, though Harry could feel the reluctance in Remus's every movement as he let Harry go.

“You've changed,” Harry said, and he turned back to Remus. He moved to sit next to Harry, but for the moment he did not reach out to him. Harry dropped his gaze to a loose thread on the edge of the cushion he sat upon, and picked at it miserably. Remus was silent for nearly a full minute before he finally answered Harry's statement.

“I have,” Remus agreed. Harry looked up, and Remus's gaze was harder than he'd remembered, less warm, somehow. What had _happened_ to him? “Should I apologize for that?”

“No—yes—I don't know.” Harry raked his hands through his hair and let out a grunt of frustration. He took a moment to try and calm himself down before he tried again.

“Since you came back, you've been...different,” Harry said to his knees, and he found himself wholly unable to look up. A large hand appeared in his field of vision and closed over his own, but it felt like a stranger's hand, not _his_ Remus.

At first, Harry could not place what exactly was different about the werewolf. It was in his every movement, every word, every expression. He'd begun to embrace his wolf side, and his domineering tendencies were coming out with greater frequency. It was unnerving to Harry how Remus seemed to unconsciously extend some sort of control over him, and even more unsettling was how much Harry wanted to _let_ him.

Harry shook himself, but the sensation did not abate. _I will not let anyone or any_ thing _control me. Not Remus, not this damnable bond, nothing._ Harry thought viciously, and forced himself to focus on Remus's voice in an effort to ignore the strange urge he had to become completely pliant to the werewolf's wishes.

“I have learned a lot about myself in my time away,” Remus replied simply while his thumb began to stroke Harry's palm lightly. The tickling sensation made Harry's fingers twitch, but he did not protest the touch.

“The moment you got back you slipped into an alpha role,” Harry said as he lifted his eyes to look at Remus, and his voice shook a little as he continued. “You demand my absolute obedience, and the moment you don't get it you force it with your teeth and claws. What the hell happened to you, Remus?” Harry asked, and winced at the tremor in his voice.

“As I recall, you were the one who pushed me to accept Greyback's—” Remus began, but Harry was quick to cut him off with an angry hiss.

“Don't you fucking _dare_ try to lay the blame for your new personality quirks on me, Remus John Lupin,” Harry growled while he glared at him. “I suggested you go. _Once_. You didn't want to, and I didn't push. Then I shared something with you, something, might I add, that I was fucking _terrified_ of telling you, and you _left_ me.” Harry's vision began to swim, and he took several shaking breaths in an effort to calm himself before he continued. “We have an unbreakable bond, and you left me to wither and die. I haven't _tears_ for what you've done to me. I've been beaten down, tortured, attacked by everything under the sun, but no one, _no one_ has ever made me feel like a victim like you have.”

Remus looked as though Harry had struck him. Perhaps it would have been simpler if he actually had.

Harry _wished_ that he could hate him. He wished he could walk away from this. He wished that he could walk out of Remus's life and never see him again. But under it all, Harry still loved him, and that made him feel sick. He just wanted to have his love for this man taken away; it had brought him nothing but pain.

Remus did not say a word in response to Harry's outburst.

Without a word, Remus stood up and walked out of the room, the horrified look never leaving his eyes. 

 

~*~

 

Harry had no idea if his words had sunk in. Instead of trying to fix things, Remus had taken to avoiding him again.

The days passed slowly and Remus steered clear of him, save for mealtimes, when he would quietly watch Harry eat. He spoke only when he felt that Harry hadn't eaten enough, and Harry would grudgingly stuff his mouth with food until Remus appeared satisfied. He hated being told to eat like he was a child, but among other things, he wasn't keen to give Remus an excuse to attack him like that again.

Rationally, Harry doubted that it would come to that again, but he didn't want to take any chances. Until this bond was broken or he and Remus fixed things(though Harry began to feel like the former was more likely between the two impossible options), the best Harry could do was try to keep things civil between them.

For the first time in well over a year, Harry began to wish that the bond _was_ somehow breakable. How could he be expected to stay with a man who had left him high and dry, to nearly starve to death because _he_ couldn't accept what the bond had done to him? Harry blamed Remus completely, and he could not even look at him without feeling that prickling, confused rage and betrayal just below the surface of his mind, threatening to burst out.

To add insult to injury, for the first time, Harry could _feel_ the bond at work. He could feel it trying to urge him to forgive Remus and let him back in in the form of a near-constant compulsion he had to seek the werewolf out, hold onto him, and never let go. It gave Harry a window into what Remus had likely gone through when the bond was first created, because with each passing day resisting its pull was getting harder and harder. 

 

Remus meanwhile, seemed lost.

It was as though the man had absolutely no idea how to extend his hand and help Harry. He wasn't certain if this was because he had changed too much in his time away, if he was now more wolf than man, and _couldn't_ help Harry in the way that he needed.

 

One particularly stormy afternoon, Harry had hidden himself away from Remus and Kreacher in the library, his nose buried in thick volumes on nonhuman mating bonds. He'd been over these books a hundred times already and knew that they contained no answers, but he couldn't take the heartache and the uncertainty any longer. Every morning the same thought passed through his mind, _will this be the day that I wake up and Remus will be gone?_ Harry knew that Remus's empty promises that he wasn't going to leave were just that—empty. Hollow. No matter what Remus promised, Harry knew that he would not stay with him. The guilt over what he had done to Harry was too great, and Harry was certain the moment Remus had deemed him back to his normal self, he would leave again.

The realization that Remus's earlier promises had been little more than pretty lies left Harry feeling, if possible, even more miserable. Remus wouldn't touch him any more, not unless he absolutely had to, and even then the look on his face was enough to make Harry sick. The reluctance, the near-disgust, Harry couldn't understand it, and he felt even more alone now than he had when Remus had first abandoned him. Was Remus disgusted _at_ him? _By_ him? He had no idea what to make of it.

“Harry?”

The sudden voice drew Harry from his depressing musings, and he looked up to see Remus standing uncertainly in the doorway of the library. There was a full cup of cold tea next to Harry that he did not remember making, and he wondered vaguely if it was Kreacher or Remus who had gotten it for him.

“Speaking to me again, are you?” He sneered, and Remus ducked his head shamefully. Harry heaved a sigh and snapped the book shut. As with his first attempt at researching the bond with Ginny, his searches turned up nothing. “What do you want, Remus?”

“I wanted to see you,” Remus began, and Harry couldn't help it—he laughed.

“That certainly makes a change,” Harry said in the same angry tone as he stood up. Remus stepped farther into the library and his gaze darkened a little at Harry's tone, but for the moment he said nothing. Harry found himself caring very little if he was upsetting Remus with his words. It wasn't like they weren't true.

“Damn it, Harry,” Remus growled as he swept forward to bar Harry from leaving by pinning him against the side of the desk. His palms braced against the wood on either side of Harry's hips, caging him in, but not completely restricting him. It was hardly the same as _the incident_ , but it did have an unpleasant ring of familiarity to it. “I'm just trying to do what's right—make things easier.”

“Easier for who, Remus?” Harry growled softly while his eyes narrowed a little. He refused to show Remus how much the one action of pinning him there was beginning to make his anxiety mount. “For _you_? Because it's so much easier to just leave than deal with these things?” Harry raised his eyebrows when a stricken look crossed the older man's face, and one more Harry laughed bitterly. “What, you thought that I wouldn't figure it out? Fool me once, as they say.”

Harry shifted, and slid up to sit on the desk, seeing as Remus seemed to have no intention of letting him go anywhere. The move meant that Harry was at eye-level with the werewolf, and he stared him down in challenge. He knew that it was stupid, and reckless, like poking a dragon with a stick, but he _refused_ to bend for the man who had put him through so much.

 

 _But he's also done so much for you_ , another part of Harry's mind murmured, and he clenched his eyes shut. _No, no, no. That doesn't make up for what he's put me through,_ he thought fiercely, and refocused his gaze on the older man. The very air around them seemed to have thickened from their tense conversation, and Harry felt his breath catch as Remus stared back, his eyes narrowed and carrying with them a clear warning.

Harry was first to break eye-contact, and his head dropped a little as he glanced down at his knees.

“I have no idea what you want from me, Remus,” Harry murmured as he looked back up, “haven't I given enough? Can't you let me go? Let _us_ go? Is there _any_ way you could just—”

Harry's words were abruptly cut off by a familiar, hot mouth covering his own.

The kiss was rough, demanding, and it had a dangerous edge to it that Harry had never felt before—not even during _the incident_. It thrilled and terrified Harry in equal measure. Harry's hands immediately lifted, one fisting Remus's hair, the other gripping his shoulder just to hold him there for a moment longer. Harry did not even know _why_ he was kissing Remus. He was still beyond furious with him for what he had done to him, he still felt beyond betrayed at Remus's behaviour towards him, but no matter what he did, Harry still wanted him—Harry still loved him.

“What if I don't want to let you go?” Remus murmured, his tone of voice husky and soft against Harry's mouth. He kissed Harry again before he asked, “what if I want to fix things?”

“You don't have a choice, in the end,” Harry replied in a similar tone of voice, “there's nothing left _to_ fix, Remus. You had your chance, that's gone now. Hell, if it wasn't for this bond I would...” he trailed off and shook his head. It hurt too much to say.

Remus stared at him for a long moment, his eyes telling the story of how deeply Harry's words had cut. Harry didn't care, not anymore. As far as Harry was concerned, it was _his_ turn to suffer.

Remus pushed himself off the desk, hard enough that the piece of furniture wobbled slightly, and he stalked out of the library without so much as a backward glance.

  

~*~

 

A fortnight after his standoff with Remus in the library, Harry was very close to being back to a healthy weight. This fact was not Harry's main focus however; with the impending full moon, he was finding his focus drawn from his domestic dispute and to how _strange_ he was feeling. He could not completely explain how he knew that his various symptoms were caused by the moon—he just _knew_. From the way his skin seemed to itch after sunset, to the pull he felt to leave the house and simply wander around outside under the moon's glow...it was becoming clearer and clearer that his partial turning was increasing, or getting worse, he wasn't certain.

Harry did not dare mention this to Remus, and went to bed five nights before the full moon alone, as he had so many nights of late. He slept on Remus's side in hopes of absorbing some of the good memories that they had once shared, but the faint, lingering scent of the older man did little beyond make Harry more depressed. He clutched at the pillow beneath his head and inhaled deeply, and the warm familiarity of Remus's scent lulled him into a fitful sleep.

 

In the veiled hours of the early morning, somewhere between night and dawn, Harry was certain that he felt the ghost of Remus's lips upon him—a feather-light kiss against his temple. So quick and gentle that Harry was sure he'd imagined it, or dreamt it. Harry's fingers curled around the edge of the duvet, and his cheek twitched when a droplet of saline water dripped onto it, trickled downwards, and painted his bottom lip.

 

When Harry woke that morning, it was to an empty house.

He was not surprised by this development, nor the bitterly short note left on his nightstand.

 

_It's for the best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again: I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I AM GOING SOMEWHERE WITH THIS I PROMISE. I'm not just angsting for the sake of angsting.


	12. Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Why am I posting two chapters at once? 1. Because I'm an impatient fuck and I was really really looking forward to sharing this one. 2. Because I will be starting back to school monday after next, and I'm trying to get out as much work as I can before then. Enjoy!
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains sequences of violence and mild gore.

Chapter 12 – Pack

 

Harry did not bother to call on Ron or Hermione.

What was there to say?

Harry had never felt so alone. Remus was gone again, and there was a finality to his actions that burned to Harry's core. It felt as though this time Remus truly wasn't coming back.

Harry did not feel half-mad from the loss, not like he had before, but he could feel the oppressive depression of the loss weighing him down. He went through the motions of each passing day mechanically. Each morning he washed, ate, then spent the day staring listlessly into the fire before he ate again and knocked back a vial of Dreamless Sleep in order to ease him into sleep. He was grateful for the potion, with it there was the added promise that he would not dream of Moony.

 

Harry did not know what day it was. All he knew was he had to eat. He had to sleep. He didn't want anyone to worry about him. Harry was determined to find a way to cope with this, while the bond was positively _screaming_ at him to go and find Remus.

This time, Harry refused. Remus had had his chances, _plenty_ of them. He had made it abundantly clear that he did not want Harry, and that thought alone made him feel even more worthless. What would happen now? He was stuck in this state of partial turning, and Harry wasn't certain if he even _could_ return to work in this state.

Harry mentally cursed Remus for being right on that count, and glared at the glowing embers of the dying fire.

 

It was four days before Harry stepped outside of Grimmauld Place.

He could not tell exactly, but he recalled taking sleeping potion four times since Remus's departure, and thus by his calculation it must have been four days, at least.

In the late evening, Harry dressed, shaved, and brushed his teeth; all the things he might do if he was planning to go on a pub crawl with his mates, when in reality all he had planned was a nightly stroll.

He was empty, certainly, but he was not as dense as he had been during his adolescence, and he could clearly see the concern in Kreacher's ghostly, aged eyes. If Harry did not do something that at least vaguely resembled productivity soon, he was certain that the elf would call on his friends to check on him, and Harry didn't want them to worry.

 

The night air was cool and damp, but the tarmac was dry, and the trees were creaking in a light breeze. After such a long period of time cooped up inside, Harry felt as though some life had been breathed into his lungs again by the sounds and smells of the night, and his head felt a little clearer.

After he double-checked to make sure that he had his wand, Harry crammed his hands into his jeans pockets, and with his back slightly hunched over, he strolled down the road. Harry wasn't sure where he was going and what he would do when he got there, all Harry knew for certain was that he needed to _move_.

A gust of wind rustled his hair, and it blew the cloud cover away from the full moon. Harry looked up, and felt his heart swell. The mere sight of it reminded him of Remus, and again he felt that terrible emptiness that the werewolf had left behind. In many ways, it felt as though Remus had taken part of Harry's soul with him when he left.

Harry stopped in front of a decrepit park, the same one where Greyback had approached him the previous year with the letter that had changed everything. He sat down heavily upon one of the swings, its iron chains creaked in the still night air, and Harry rocked his heels in the gravel lightly, his gaze still focused upon the swell of the moon.

Except, the night wasn't nearly as silent as Harry expected it to be.

Rumbling.

Harry was on his feet and had his wand drawn in an instant, and he looked around wildly for the source of the sound. Was it an earthquake? It sounded so close. Unfortunately, in the darkness Harry could not see where the sound was coming from, or what was causing it.

“Oh, this is stupid,” Harry muttered to himself as he suddenly remembered that his wand in his hand, “ _Lumos_.”

The tip of his wand illuminated, and it shone towards the small copse of trees, and it highlighted much more than the flora of the park.

Blended in almost perfectly with the surrounding trees was the silhouette of a huge wolf.

It stepped forward, lip curled and growling, and Harry recognized it at once by the distinctive streak of grey down its back.

Harry was frozen, shock and fear intermingling in his mind as he strove to recall what to do when facing a werewolf on a full moon—one that could rip him limb from limb as easily as blinking.

Still snarling dangerously, the giant creature took a solitary step forward.

That single movement broke Harry's brittle courage, and he bolted.

He tore past the trees and towards the open football field beyond it where he'd have space to run and not run the risk of cornering himself. He could hear Greyback giving chase as he zigzagged randomly across the grass, and made sharp turns that the werewolf's large, bulky body could not make nearly as quickly. Greyback's heavy paws thundered behind him, but like Harry had expected, his sharp movements were difficult for him to follow as precisely as he could have, had Harry run straight on.

At first, it seemed to be working. Harry began to feel hopeful that he'd somehow get out of this—maybe by some wild fluke he'd tire Greyback out and he'd escape. The moment the hopeful thought passed through his mind however, his foot landed on an abandoned beer can, and the aluminum moulded to the shape of his trainer. Harry slipped and was sent sprawling onto the grass with a sharp grunt, and it took a few kicks to get the can off his foot. Unfortunately, his tumble had given Greyback plenty of time to catch up to him, but Harry refused to roll over and die. Not again.

Harry jumped up and ran for the trees, but Greyback seemed to have anticipated his actions, and caught the collar of his jumper in his jaws. Choking, Harry's escape was cut short, and he fell again at the feet of the beast.

Harry's breath was coming hard and fast, and his face was beaded with sweat. It was a zip-up jumper, and he quickly yanked the zip free and peeled himself out of the garment, like a newt dropping its tail. He was off again, with the werewolf in hot pursuit.

Harry made for the trees, and gave his wand a sharp flick to extinguish it as he was enveloped by the darkness, and he wove through the thick trunks as he searched for one with boughs low enough for him to reach. He hoped to find one low enough for him to climb up far enough that Greyback would not be able to reach him but in his haste, Harry had not been watching the ground as closely as he should have, and his foot caught on a tree root.

Harry felt the wind rush out of him as he fell again, and he skinned his palms against the aged bark of a nearby oak. Harry did not allow himself to pause, and whirled around at once to find that Greyback had stopped mere feet from him, his lip curled back in a dangerous snarl.

“G-Greyback,” Harry said, grimacing at the tremor in his voice. He backed up slowly, and Greyback mirrored his steps. “Please—” Harry cut himself off, uncertain how much of Greyback's rational mind was actually in there, or what he could possibly say to get the alpha wolf to back down. Harry stepped back again, only to feel his back press into the bark of a wide tree.

Harry saw his hindquarter muscles tense, and Harry screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the piercing pain of inch-long teeth to sink into his meaty flesh, but instead he felt a rush of a breeze brush his face, and a second growl joined Greyback's.

Harry's eyes snapped open, and at once his breath caught as he recognized the mass of grey and tawny fur that stood between him and Greyback.

 

Moony.

 

Harry felt joy and relief swell in his chest. As his panic began to ebb, he was momentarily distracted from the danger of the situation he was in by the sheer _size_ of Moony. Seeing him since he had stopped taking the wolfsbane Harry _knew_ that he had gotten larger, but when put beside Greyback, that change was made even more apparent.

At one time, Moony had been significantly smaller than Greyback; a dwarf facing a giant. But now, they were almost equal in stature; Moony was more slender and Greyback more heavily built, but the change in him was still staggering.

Greyback snarled in warning, but Moony did not back off. He puffed himself up, meeting the alpha wolf with a warning growl of his own. Harry kept absolutely still as he watched the pair, his hands trembling ever so slightly and his T-shirt clung to his chest, his skin a sheen of cold sweat. Harry held his breath as he watched and waited. It felt a little strange that _he_ was the thing that Greyback and Moony were fighting over, but he was not stupid enough to try and get between them or run off. He had a feeling that he wouldn't get very far. Harry saw Moony's back legs tense, and it began.

Moony crouched and took a flying leap. Greyback howled as the smaller wolf latched himself firmly onto his throat, and Harry could smell blood in the air. Greyback swiped at him with his claws, and Harry winced as Moony yelped and let go. With his left flank stained a dark red, Moony whirled around and went in for a second attack, apparently unfazed by the injury.

Both wolves leapt at each other, and their jaws locked together. They jumped apart and leapt back at one another so fast that Harry struggled to follow their movements. Every time Greyback made it past Moony's defences and sunk his teeth into the smaller wolf Harry winced along with his yelp of pain, but Moony did not give in, and went straight for Greyback again.

The werewolves were bleeding in several places, and after an indeterminable amount of time they backed off a little. Their eyes were still flashing dangerously, they were still growling, but panting heavily as they circled each other, looking for an opening to attack again. Harry dug his fingernails into the dirt as he watched, his breath stilled as he waited for the fight to recommence.

Greyback struck first, and Harry cried out the same moment Moony did. The werewolf's high whine pierced the night air and Harry watched with horror as Greyback took Moony by the throat and slammed him bodily into the ground. For a few moments Moony squirmed and struggled, but he could not get free of Greyback's hold. Harry cringed as he heard Moony's breaths become more ragged, and Greyback let out a muffled growl as his teeth sunk deeper into Moony's flesh. Moony vocalized one last soft, plaintive whimper before he went still, his eyes pleading with the alpha, but he did not dare move.

Greyback released Moony as he rounded on Harry, and Moony lay down upon the ground, ears flat against his head as he pressed himself bodily into the ground, as though he was trying to make himself as small as possible.

Harry sat rooted to the spot. He pressed his back more firmly into the tree's bark as he stared at the enormous wolf that was advancing upon him, and all thought of trying to escape fled from his mind as he dissolved into a state of blind panic.

“No...” Harry said, his voice barely above a whimper as the werewolf approached him, “G-Greyback, please...don't— _don't!_ ”

Harry gasped sharply and tried to lurch away as the werewolf's enormous, bloodied jaws opened wide, closed over his throat, and dragged Harry to the ground. Aside from his hyperventilating, Harry remained perfectly still, his eyes bulging in their sockets as he felt the werewolf bite down.

Pinpricks of pain—less painful than a vaccination needle—and miraculously, Greyback let him go.

Harry watched, slack-jawed, as Greyback stepped away from him walked over to where Moony was laying. Greyback nudged him gently, and Moony's tail wagged feebly. It took Harry a moment to understand that Greyback was checking to see if Moony was all right, though why Greyback would even _care_ if Moony was okay seemed beyond strange to him.

After most of his fear had drained away and Harry was at least marginally certain that he wouldn't be attacked again he sat up. He reached up tentatively to touch his throat where he had been bitten, and when he retracted his fingers, they came away smeared with such a tiny amount of blood it was less like he'd been attacked by a werewolf, and more like he'd nicked himself shaving.

Harry looked back up from his fingers, and immediately he rubbed at his eyes roughly, certain that he was seeing things.

He watched Greyback gently nudge Moony until he stood up, and both werewolves loped towards him. Greyback lay down on Harry's left side, and Moony sat at Harry's right, whimpering and nudging Harry's cheek, a mournful look in his amber eyes.

Harry was still numb with shock, and he didn't move as Moony's large tongue laved over the minor injuries, cleaning up the blood that had trickled down to the collar of his shirt. Harry sat still, numb with shock over everything that had transpired that evening, and silently allowed Moony to clean his wounds. When he finished, Moony lay down the same way Greyback had, boxing Harry in between two great, furry bodies.

Harry stared at the pair of them in bewilderment as his mind slowly calmed and he began to work through the strange series of events that had transpired. He checked his watch, miraculously unscathed from his misadventure, and stared at the time depicted there in shock. Had it really only been half an hour? Harry shook his head a little, a wave of dizziness replacing his panic.

The werewolves appeared to be sleeping. Moony and Greyback's heads were turned inward and rested atop their crossed forepaws, and their tails were outstretched, enclosing Harry between them; though he couldn't tell whether they were caging him in or protecting him.

Harry shifted slightly, and at once Greyback growled in warning. He froze, and stared from Greyback, whose lip was still curled slightly, to Moony. His eyes were open, but apart from that he hadn't moved a muscle. He was staring up at Harry with an almost human, apologetic look in his eyes, but remained where he was. When Greyback appeared satisfied that Harry wasn't going to run he settled down again and went back to sleep.

 

An hour passed, and still Harry was stuck between the sleeping wolves, at a loss for what to do. He had racked his brains as he tried to remember something, _anything_ about what to do if you suddenly found yourself trapped between two sleeping werewolves. Nothing at Hogwarts, nor in his Auror training had prepared him for this. Harry wasn't even sure what _this_ was. Why were they keeping him here? What did Greyback _do_? Was he actually turned? Why didn't Greyback tear a chunk out of him like he had Remus? All of the questions were making Harry's head ache.

 _I need to get out of here,_ Harry thought fiercely, _Hermione will know what to do. She knows_ everything.

Harry tried to move again, and was met with another threatening snarl from Greyback. He froze again and stared as both werewolves shifted closer to him, all but pinning him in place.

Harry felt his panic begin to rise again as he looked down at his wand, still clutched in his hand. He reminded himself for the umpteenth time that werewolves were impervious to many kinds of magic, meaning that escape from the pair of them was unlikely. The fact that Moony seemed to have turned against him was perplexing and was yet another betrayal to add to Remus's ever-growing list, but Harry pushed it to the back of his mind for the moment—knew that he needed to deal with one problem at a time.

 _Would a talking Patronus work?_ He wondered idly, his hold on his wand tensing slightly. The problem was that in Harry's adult life, a talking Patronus was one of the few charms he'd never quite gotten the hang of. He'd managed it—sort of—once, when he experimentally sent his stag to Ron to invite him out for a pub crawl. It had gotten to him all right, but the message had been entirely in Russian. Harry hadn't the foggiest idea how he'd managed that one—he didn't even _know_ Russian. Harry shook his head a little to dispel the memory, and stared down at his wand, wondering if he should give it a shot anyway.

The moment Harry had raised his wand to try however, he let out a soft gasp of surprise as Moony's jaws closed over Harry's wrist in warning, the amber eyes both pleading and apologetic. When he did not immediately react Moony bit down gently, not hard enough to break the skin, but certainly enough to hurt. Another gasp escaped him, and Harry's wand tumbled from his fingers. Moony released him and rested his head over his paws again, and Harry scrambled to pick his wand back up. When he did not lift it, neither werewolf reacted, and again Harry was stuck sitting there, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. The sun would come up eventually, and it would be rather difficult to explain to the early-morning footballers why he was caught between two older, very naked and injured men.

Harry sat very still, and he watched the moon cross the sky, and glanced down periodically to check his watch. Not long after midnight, both werewolves seemed to have finally fallen into a proper sleep. Harry shifted experimentally, and when neither creature reacted, he felt a flicker of hope.

Moving slowly and carefully, Harry inched into a crouched position, balanced precariously upon his toes and fingertips. He stood up just as slowly, stepped over the sleeping canines, and tip-toed his way through the trees and towards the field.

He hadn't gotten very far however before a loud bark broke the silence, and the thundering footfalls of Greyback's massive, hulking form caught up with him before he'd even managed to break into a run. Growling angrily at Harry, he bit down upon the hem of Harry's T-shirt and dragged him bodily back to where Moony was waiting. Like earlier, Moony was pressed flat against the ground, ears pressed against his head as he watched his alpha and Harry return, Greyback growling, and Harry struggling against his hold.

When they reached Moony Greyback knocked Harry to the ground with a sharp headbutt, and Harry landed hard on his arse, grunting a little as the breath was knocked from his lungs. Both wolves curled around Harry again, though now it felt much more like a prison cell than a protective wall, and every minor movement Harry made—even an involuntary twitch of his muscles was met with a nip of warning from Greyback's teeth.

 _If you think I'm giving up on getting out of here you've got another thing coming,_ Harry thought as he glared down at the beast.

 

Again Harry waited, biding his time, and again when he thought that they were both asleep he stood and took off. No sooner had his body heat disappeared from between the pair, Harry heard their yips cries, but this time it was Moony who chased him down. He shepherded Harry back to his Alpha, bringing him back much more gently than Greyback had, with an apologetic look in his eyes.

Harry did not sleep at all that night, and every few hours he made another bid for freedom, only to be corralled by either Moony or Greyback, and dragged back to the little spot they seemed to have claimed as temporary territory for the night.

Harry couldn't make heads or tails of their strange behaviour, and in the time between his escape efforts something else caught his notice: Greyback's the Portkey Cuff, the one the Aurors had affixed to his ankle, seemed to be missing.

Harry could not recall hearing anything about the Aurors being notified that it had been tampered with, but then he hadn't been to the office for a while. It unsettled him, but Harry knew that it was definitely a concern for another day. He refocused his attention back on the problem at hand, and once more tried to figure out how he could get away from them, or at least far enough away to Apparate, and _why_ they were keeping him here to begin with.

 

At daybreak, Harry watched the pair of bodies surrounding him twist and contort, he winced as their bones broke audibly and reset themselves, the thick fur disappeared, and ever so slowly, two men replaced the two creatures that had held him hostage all through the night. Throughout the transformation neither of them woke, and Harry figured that this would be his best chance to get back home.

Harry had barely begun to move before a hand at his throat stopped him short.

“Let me go, Greyback,” Harry said as firmly as he could manage, his voice thick with exhaustion.

“No,” he rumbled, his hold on Harry tightening ever so slightly. Greyback moved to face him, and his mouth was stretched into a feral grin.

“Why not?” Harry demanded, and grimaced a little as Greyback squeezed his throat in warning.

“You're pack, I've marked you,” Greyback rumbled, as though the fact that he'd been _marked—_ whatever that meant—was a simple enough explanation. “You belong with us.”

“Like Hell I am,” Harry snarled, and wrenched himself out of Greyback's grip, but he didn't get far before the man caught up to him again, a large hand wrapping around his throat and squeezed, cutting off his oxygen intake for the briefest of moments, enough of a warning to momentarily still Harry's escape efforts. He looked around wildly, but Remus sat crouched not far from them, his eyes downcast and one knee drawn up to his chest. With his scabbed-over bite injuries, in particular at his throat, he looked as bad as Harry felt.

“You are pack,” Greyback repeated in a snarl, drawing Harry's attention back to the alpha, “I have laid claim on you for my pack, which means that regardless how your pathetic mate feels, your place is with us now. Next moon, you will be turned, and then you shall truly be one of us.”

Harry was struck dumb in his shock at the proclamation. At the same time, there was no way in hell he was going anywhere with Greyback just because he said so _._ He pointed his wand at the man—the very naked man—and shot a nonverbal Impediment Jinx at him. It wouldn't be as powerful as it would have been on a normal human, but the hiss of shock and the way his body froze gave Harry the opening he had been looking for all night, and while he kicked himself for not thinking of it earlier, he pulled his throat free of the werewolf's grip and took off at a run, then when he was certain that he was far enough away, he Disapparated.


	13. Enough

Chapter 13 – Enough

 

Harry reappeared on the steps of Grimmauld Place and hurried inside. His chest was heaving as though he'd run the whole way, and the moment he shut the door behind him he turned back to it and flicked his wand, strengthening the wards as best he could in his hazy panic, and adding a few new ones to bar a specific werewolf from finding him too easily. He was certain that Greyback wouldn't be far behind when the Impediment Jinx wore off, and he wasn't about to make it easy for the alpha to find him.

When he was satisfied with the warding he'd set up, Harry dropped his wand arm with a soft sigh of exhaustion. As he stood there, his free hand brushed over the puncture marks at his throat. They were raised slightly and scabbed over, and Harry felt another thrill of fear rush through him.

It was true that he had entertained the idea of being turned, even welcomed it, but that was when he had had Remus. Things had been far from perfect, but they were _good_.

All alone, Harry had never felt more terrified.

Thunder overhead snapped Harry from his daze. His head whipped skyward, and it took him a moment to realize that no, it was not thunder, but heavy footsteps. Harry's head whipped towards the stairwell just in time to see Hermione practically flying down the stairs in her haste.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, a hand clutched over her heart. “Ron!” she called, turning her head to yell up the stairs, “he's here! He's okay!”

“ _Good!_ ” Ron's muffled voice called back, “ _tell him from me that he's a git!_ ”

Hermione rushed forward to embrace him, and Harry careened back a little from the force of her hug. At the same time, Harry could hear the loud stomping of Ron rushing downstairs to join them.

“We were _so_ worried!” Hermione said tearfully as she continued to hold onto him, “we didn't hear from you all day yesterday and last night was the full moon and I just had a bad feeling, and, oh, I'm just so relieved that you're okay!”

“I'm alive,” Harry rasped when she finally let him go, “not so sure if I'm okay...” Harry's hand moved to the marks on his throat and looked at Hermione significantly. She stared for a long moment, then brought her hands to her mouth in a gasp.

“Are those what I think they are?” she asked as she reached out a tentative hand to touch one of the puncture wounds. Harry nodded weakly to her question, and her brow furrowed as she escorted Harry to the sitting room. He plopped down in between his two friends and buried his face in his hands.

Harry felt so tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep. He knew better than to hope that Hermione would leave without a complete retelling of what had happened, and was therefore unsurprised when Hermione asked, “who did it?”

“Greyback,” Harry answered at once his face still in his hands. He was pleased that he managed to keep the tremor from his voice, however. “I've got one month before...” Harry trailed off, he couldn't say it. The words would not come, and instead of the thought of what awaited him in a mere thirty days settled as a knot of panic in his throat.

“So you're not turned yet?” Ron asked nervously, and Harry lifted his gaze to see Ron regarding him with a tendril of fear in his expression. From a pureblooded upbringing, Harry couldn't completely blame Ron for his reaction. Even after knowing Remus for years, there were still times when Harry would catch him staring at Remus with a wary, mistrustful gaze. To Ron's question Harry shook his head, and dropped his gaze again.

“The way Greyback explained it, it's was a sort of...claim. Remus took off again and I sort of...lost track of the cycles of the moon and decided to go for a walk. Greyback ambushed me, Moony tried to stop him, but he wasn't strong enough. Then I spent the whole night being held captive by Greyback and Moony.”

“Captive? Why?” Ron asked, his brow furrowing.

“If another pack wanted to, they could contest the claim, but only on the same moon when the claim is made,” Hermione replied at once, sounding as always like she'd swallowed a textbook. “They were protecting Harry to make sure that no one could take him away.”

“And Moony—Remus— _he_ held you captive too?” Ron asked, his eyes wide. Harry nodded.

“I dunno why,” Harry replied while he dropped his gaze to his knees. “He didn't speak to me at all the next morning he just—”

“— _that_ is not his fault, Harry,” Hermione said, and Harry's gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise.

“Why are you Remus's cheerleader all of a sudden, Hermione? Yeah, he tried to stop Greyback initially, but then—”

“—Greyback is his alpha, Harry,” Hermione said firmly, “Remus has no choice but to obey him, especially if they fought. They did fight, right?” Harry nodded silently. “And Moony lost?” Another nod. “That explains it, then.”

“I'm sorry but that explains it _how_?” Ron cut in, “Moony betrayed Harry, _again_ , by switching sides because he was too weak to—”

“Weren't you listening, Ron? Greyback is Remus's alpha. An alpha's word is law. If Greyback says jump, Remus has to ask, 'how high?' if Greyback wants Harry marked to be turned, Remus can protest, but if he's incapable of beating the alpha in a physical fight, he has no choice but to bend to Greyback's wish.”

“He did look really remorseful all night,” Harry muttered, cutting in when he noticed Ron open his mouth to offer up an angry retort. He was far too exhausted to put up with their bickering this morning.

“I know Remus never wanted this for you, Harry,” Hermione said gently, “he wanted you to have a normal life. But...how did you get away? I would have assumed Greyback would have tried to take you straight back to the pack territory.”

Harry nodded, “He tried. Come morning Remus wouldn't even look at me, and Greyback tried to drag me off. I jinxed him and ran.”

Silence met Harry's explanation, and he turned to look at Hermione, who was chewing on her bottom lip, apparently caught somewhere between apprehension and worry. Before he could ask her what was on her mind, she pressed forward.

“Harry, erm, have you thought of what you're going to do?” Hermione asked tentatively, and Harry blinked with confusion.

“Do? There's nothing I _can_ do, Hermione. I'm stuck, again.”

“I don't mean that,” she said gently, and her eyes took on a sorrowful, sympathetic look as she leant forward and rested a hand on his knee, “I mean...this won't be kept quiet. It's not illegal anymore to be turned, so if Greyback or Re—er, _someone_ comes and turns you, they won't be taken away, but Harry...Werewolves are barred from being Aurors.”

Harry stared at Hermione. A heavy silence fell between them as the statement registered in his mind. It couldn't be true; she was joking. She _had_ to be joking.

Hermione's expression did not change, and Harry gritted his teeth as he pulled away from her. She reached out to him to try and console him, but the moment her hand touched his arm she jerked back with a yelp as his magic escaped his control in his fury and anguish. Hermione recoiled, her palm smoking slightly, but otherwise unharmed.

Harry barely noticed her reaction as he jumped up and let out an enraged, anguished scream. His two best friends looked on with horror as the gas lamps flickered; the photographs on the walls rattled in their frames; the sofa's upholstery tore as though an invisible lion or tiger began to shred it, and with a thunderous _crack_ the coffee table split cleanly in half, eliciting another scream of shock and fright from Hermione.

Harry stormed over to the mantelpiece and shoved all the ornaments and framed photographs that decorated it to the floor, and the glass ornaments shattered around him. Harry continued to scream, and rage, shout obscenities, and in his blind fury he tore down, threw, and otherwise reduced his sitting room to ruins.

Harry fell heavily upon the sofa again, tears streaking his cheeks, and he stared sightlessly at the splintered remains of the coffee table.

“All I ever wanted was to do was help people,” he said, his voice hoarse as he ignored the horrified looks that his friends were giving him. “From the first time I heard about it, all I wanted to be was an Auror. Thanks to Remus Lupin, now I'll never be one.”

“It's not Remus's fault,” Hermione said softly, and she reached out tentatively to grasp Harry's forearm. “You know that. Harry, it's just that these things, they—”

“—If you say _they happen for a reason_ I swear to God I will hex you,” Harry growled, and Hermione's mouth snapped shut. She pulled her hand back, a wounded look in her eyes.

“Don't snap at her like that!” Ron said angrily, “we're on your side, we want to help so don't bite our fucking heads off!”

“What _can_ you do?” Harry snapped back, jumping off the sofa again as he rounded on Ron. “Everything I've ever wanted, everything I've worked to build since the end of the war—it's all gone. So tell me Ron how can you _possibly_ help? I'm stuck. Again.”

Harry watched Ron's jaw work as he fought to keep his anger in check, while Harry glared right back at them.

“C'mon Hermione,” he said at last, turning away from Harry, “let's leave Harry alone. Clearly he doesn't _want_ our help.” His tone was cold and even, and he grabbed Hermione's hand.

“Oh, but...” she trailed off when Harry's glare did not soften, and she cast him one last troubled, sympathetic look. Her face stained with tears, she followed Ron into the front hall and out the door. 

 

~*~

  

Harry was left in peace for less than an hour (in which he spent most of his time trying to strengthen the wards around the house to keep Greyback out) when a wolf's howl sounded from outside.

The ululation made Harry's blood run cold, and as he rushed to the window he silently prayed that he was hearing things.

Outside, Harry could see Greyback in his wolf form pacing back and forth along the edges of the property. It seemed as though he couldn't get in, which was a relief, but he didn't seem particularly inclined to leave, either. With so many muggles around, Harry wasn't sure what he could do to get him to leave (aside from giving himself up, which he _really_ didn't want to do).

Strangely, it seemed as though even in this form, Greyback had a level of control over his magic. As Harry watched Greyback's procession back and forth along the edges of the property, he observed well over a dozen muggles—men, women, children, and even a number of cars pass him by without so much as a backward glance. Harry guessed it to be some sort of perception shift of glamour, but from such a distance, it was difficult for him to be certain.

After a few minutes, Harry watched Greyback slow to a stop and he sat down in front of his gate. Greyback's blue eyes were narrowed at the house he knew was there, but could not see or approach. He howled again, and Harry felt his arms break out into gooseflesh, while he felt a strange compulsion to answer the call. It was deeply unsettling that _Greyback,_ of all people, held such a level of control over him, and it made his panic towards the entire situation spike significantly. Harry shook his head roughly, and slowly the feeling began to fade. He forced his gaze away from the window and stepped over to the sofa, where he sat down and he promptly dropped his head into his hands.

Without the visual aid telling Harry that Greyback was still out there, he was able to calm himself down—somewhat. He raked his hands through his hair, and took a shuddering breath. In an effort to distract himself, Harry forced his thoughts away from the unwanted visitor just outside of the house, and back to his friends.

Harry hoped that Hermione and Ron would relay what had happened to the others (those who wouldn't go running to the press, at any rate) and that he would be left alone. He wasn't certain that he could face telling everyone individually about what had happened—saying it once had been hard enough.

Unfortunately, Fate did not seem to think that Harry Potter deserved such a reprieve, and he uttered a soft curse when his Floo suddenly flared to life and Ginny Weasley tumbled onto the hearth.

Ginny didn't look up at Harry as she stood up and dusted off her robes. She then turned to him, that all-too-familiar blazing, determined look in her eyes, and strode over to where he sat.

Harry watched her approach apprehensively, uncertain what she was up to or why she had come. She sat down at his side without a word, and Harry let out a squawk of surprise as she reached forward and pulled himself to a tight embrace. Ginny held onto him tightly, not saying a word, and after his surprise had worn off, Harry caved and hugged her back in equal silence.

“Ron told me between swear words what happened,” Ginny said softly while she continued to hold onto him, “Harry, I'm so sorry.”

Harry had no idea what to say, and merely tightened his hold on her. He was so tired; tired of fighting, tired of losing everything and everyone that mattered to him—tired of all the _sacrifice_. Harry couldn't think of a way to verbalize what he was feeling, and merely buried his face in the crook of her neck and shuddered while he tried valiantly to hold himself together.

“I'm just so tired of it Ginny,” Harry mumbled hoarsely, “I just...I don't want this anymore. The only good thing about all of this is the bite will dissolve the bond and I'll never have to see Remus again.”

“Harry, you don't mean that,” Ginny said, her voice carrying a note of shock to it that Harry hadn't expected. She pulled away from Harry and forced him to look at her. “You love him and he loves you. And You _know_ it's not the bond, it's _you._ If you leave him now, you'll regret it.”

“Not anymore,” Harry muttered, “Ginny, you didn't see him these last few months. Remus now...he was like...like...a landslide, or something. He just destroyed everything in his path.”

“Harry,” Ginny said gently, her eyes carrying a flicker of guilt, Harry assumed for not having visited earlier, “I know Remus made a lot of bad decisions, but—” another howl broke the silence, and Ginny's eyes went wide. In the heat of the moment, Harry had completely forgotten about Greyback.

“Harry, what was that?” Ginny asked, her voice dropping to a frightened whisper.

“Greyback,” Harry muttered flatly, no longer having the energy to even feel the fear that was simmering below the surface of his mind.

“Why is he here?” Ginny asked as she reached for Harry, took his hand, and gave it a small squeeze. Harry returned the gesture weakly.

“Because of these,” Harry lifted his chin and brushed the fingers of his free hand over the marks on his throat. “Greyback claims that I belong with his—his _pack_ since he marked me.”

“And have you tried to get rid of him, or have you just hid in here, pretending that he's not there?” Ginny asked with an arched brow, and Harry immediately felt an embarrassed flush begin to creep up his neck.

“Okay Harry, that's enough,” she said firmly. Ginny stood up and dragged Harry with her, then started to pull him towards the front hall.

“What're you doing?” Harry demanded in a panic and dug in his heels, but Ginny ignored him and continued to drag him towards the door.

“The Harry Potter _I_ knew would never run and hide,” she said in a firm voice, “the Harry Potter _I_ knew would _never_ act how you are acting.” Her voice, beyond firm, sounded almost hurt or betrayed. “That's enough, Harry, we all know you're scared—hell, you'd be stupid to not be—but it's time to actually _deal_ with your problems, instead of hiding away like this.”

Ginny pushed him out the door the moment they reached it, and she followed after him while she flicked her wand and muttered to herself as she went. Harry recognized the charmwork at once, given that she was one of the few people (aside from Ron and Hermione) still keyed into the warding of Grimmauld Place. Harry swallowed thickly as he watched her lift some of the enchantments, just enough that Greyback would be able to see and hear them—but not get to them.

On shaking limbs Harry stepped down into the front garden with Ginny at his side, and the moment Greyback saw them he tried to move forward, but was impended by the wards in place. He growled threateningly, then slowly transformed back into a man. He lifted a hand as they approached, and a pair of jeans, boots, and a jacket zoomed out of nowhere and towards the alpha wolf. Harry stared, and he wondered if he was witnessing simple wandless magic, or the mythic werewolf magic that he'd heard of here and there over the last few years. By the time Harry and Ginny stopped roughly two feet from him he was fully dressed, and he immediately leered at Harry.

“Finally come out of hiding, Potter?” He sneered, and Harry glared at him.

“Shut up,” Harry snapped, and quickly moved onto more pressing matters. “What have you done to me?”

“Your _mate—”_ Greyback paused and snorted derisively at the title, “—was too weak to do what needed to be done, and I stepped in. That is the short version of events. Would you care to hear the story again with more detail?”

“I _needed_ to be turned? To what purpose?” Harry asked, while he tried to keep his voice steady. He had heard this a few times over the last few months, and he still found it difficult to believe. “I never wanted this— _any_ of this. Remus just jumped to conclusions that I—”

“—What you wanted or didn't want makes no difference,” Greyback interrupted,.“your magic made that decision for you months ago. _Months_ , Potter. Your fate was sealed when your magic partially turned you. One cannot be left in a state of partial turning indefinitely, as I told your mate at least a dozen times over.”

“Why not?” Harry demanded his mind still stuck somewhere between utter disbelief and fear, “I mean, if it's such a big deal, how come I don't feel any different? I've had this _partial turning_ thing for a good six months now, and aside from some very vivid dreams, nothing much has happened.”

“The dreams are how it begins,” Greyback replied, his tone dropping from frustrated to grave so suddenly that Harry felt a twist of nervousness in the pit of his stomach. “Over time, those dreams bleed into your waking mind. They become hallucinations. You will no longer know what is real and what is an illusion. I have seen partially turned wolves tear apart their loved ones with their bare hands, lose control of their magic and decimate the world around them...you're fucking _lucky_ that you've lasted this long with no serious side effects.”

Harry exchanged a look with Ginny. Was Greyback serious? Even after everything, Harry had a hard time believing that Remus would knowingly put him in such danger. Harry was drawn from his musings when Greyback took a step forward, but was forced back by protective warding in place. He bared his teeth in a growl, but his intimidation tactics weren't enough to scare Harry.

“Why do you even care?” Harry asked, “you...I mean, you fought with Voldemort, you were there when Dumbledore—” Harry cut himself off with a hiss. “I mean, why do you give a shit whether I come to your pack, or implode, or whatever?”

Harry waited for a response, but instead of getting one, Greyback cocked his head to the side slightly, his eyes narrowed as though Harry had suddenly began to speak a foreign language.

“Were you born this thick, or is it an inherited trait?” Greyback asked, and Harry stared. When he did not offer up an answer, Greyback pressed forward. “You are one of us. Whether you like it or not, whether your so called mate stays with you or abandons you is of little consequence to me. You are one of us. You are of my line, and I am your alpha.” Greyback crossed his thick arms, as though his statement clarified matters, though Harry felt more perplexed than ever.

“How come he can do that?” Ginny asked suddenly, and Harry saw her falter momentarily when Greyback's keen eyes flicked to her, but she pressed forward as though she was unaffected by it. “I mean, when all of this first started, he practically killed me to get to Harry, and now he can leave him for weeks at a time? The books said—” Ginny's question was cut off with a derisive snort from Greyback.

“I swear, your Ministry gets more wrong than it does right,” he growled with a quick shake of his head, and much to the surprise of Harry and Ginny, Greyback began to explain. “Following the settlement of the bond, the werewolf can essentially do as they like with their human,” he explained. “If the werewolf is particularly vindictive, they can block the bond, thus kill their mate slowly.”

Fleetingly, Harry wondered just how many werewolves like that Greyback actually knew, or if he was just saying it to unnerve him. Before he could ask however, Greyback pressed on. “The human needs their werewolf, but the werewolf does not _need_ their human. To his credit, Remus seemed to have no idea what he'd done to you, Potter, and when we told him what blocking the bond was doing to you, it was a long time before he actually believed it.”

“But you're his _alpha_ ,” Ginny said, clearly struggling to maintain an air of confidence as she spoke to the werewolf, but a frustrated sputter escaped her nonetheless. “Couldn't you just _make_ him come home to Harry?”

“I am not in the business of _making_ my pack members do anything involving their personal lives. If Remus wants to leave Potter to suffer a slow death, that is his prerogative. I told him what would happen, and he didn't listen. I have spent too much energy already trying to convince that foolish werewolf to stop being a bloody coward and return to you. Now, it is out of my hands. You will be turned, and whether you two make up or not makes no difference to me. Either way, you are still pack and you _will_ come with me.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you,” Harry spat, and took a step back.

“You will,” Greyback said in a low voice that was closer to a purr than a growl. Harry shivered, but stood strong. He refused to show Greyback just how scared he actually was. “One way or another, you will. Whether it's now, or on the next moon when I sink my teeth into you, you will come to us.”

“No way,” Harry growled stubbornly, but his response was met with a chuckle from the werewolf. The sound of it deeply unsettled him.

“One month Potter,” he said simply, then with one last leering smirk he jerked his wrist, and his clothing vanished. Ginny turned away at this, but Harry kept watching him as he transformed back into a wolf and ran off.

“C'mon Harry,” Ginny said softly in the silence that followed Greyback's departure, and she wrapped an arm around his middle as she led him back inside.

 

Ginny forced him down onto the sofa, and pressed a tumbler of firewhisky into his hand. He took a healthy swig of the stuff as Ginny sat at his side quietly.

“How did this happen Ginny?” He asked softly, his voice rough. He felt weak and dizzy, and tried to dispel it by shaking his head a few times, but the sensation refused to abate. “I've lost everything. Thanks to Remus—”

“—Remus didn't do this to you, you prat,” Ginny interrupted tersely, “haven't you been listening? Your _magic_ did. Hermione went over all of it with me. Your magic clashed with Remus's werewolf bonding magic, and it coped the only way it could—by partially turning you. You couldn't have prevented this any more than Remus could have. It's no one's fault, it just happened.” Ginny paused, and shifted to rest a hand over Harry's, and her voice dropped to a gentler tone. “I know it's an awful situation Harry, I'm not trying to belittle your pain. I know you've always wanted to be an Auror, and now that's gone. But that doesn't mean that you have to stop helping people. There are a dozen other things you could do with your talents.”

“Oh yeah? Name one,” Harry grumbled, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“You could be an emissary between the werewolf packs and the Ministry,” she said at once, “you could set up a home for orphaned werewolf children who can't join a pack, you could join the Office for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you could even go teach at Hogwarts once the Defence Against the Dark Arts position opens up. You were a phenomenal teacher at those DA meetings and you know it. Your life doesn't end because you have to stop being an Auror.”

“Sure feels like it,” he muttered as he leant back against the sofa's destroyed upholstery. “I just wanted—”

“—I _know_ Harry,” Ginny interrupted, and Harry turned to her to offer up an angry retort, but the gentle, sympathetic look in her eyes stopped him short. “Really, I do. But apart from making yourself miserable, what is this moping and destroying your house really accomplishing?”

Harry didn't answer her straightaway, but turned away from her pleading, anguished expression and stared sullenly at the glowing embers in his fireplace. No, it accomplished nothing; he knew that. Harry didn't look at her, because he wasn't quite ready to admit that she was right just yet. He felt her arm wrap around his shoulders to pull him into another hug, and she pressed a kiss to his temple before she stood up.

“Let yourself grieve for what you've lost,” Ginny said gently while she made her way towards Harry's fireplace, “but don't let it consume you. Your life isn't over. It's just...a new stage.” 

 

~*~

  

After four days of doing very little other than stare meditatively into his fire grate, Harry finally allowed Kreacher to clean up the mess he'd made of the sitting room. He headed upstairs for the first time since everything had happened, intent on trying to put himself back together—at least somewhat.

Harry showered and changed his clothes, then traipsed to his study to write his letter of resignation to the Auror Office. There was no point in going back now, it had been weeks since he'd actually been in the office, and Harry figured that a letter would be enough. Harry sat at his desk, pulled out some clean parchment, but cursed when he couldn't find any quills. He headed back to his bedroom to fetch one, but when he'd crossed the threshold, he froze two feet from the bed. Harry realized quite suddenly that the room still smelt strongly of Remus, and he shivered.

Harry felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, and he hissed a curse. He pressed the tips of his thumb and forefinger against his tear ducts, but it did little to quell the swell of misery that he now felt beginning to fester in the pit of his stomach.

Despite his best efforts, he still deeply cared for Remus. Harry knew that it would take more strength of will to be shot of him how he'd like, especially when a part of him still longed to never let him go.

Harry abandoned his intent of writing the letter that he really, _really_ didn't want to write, and shuffled over to the bed in a daze. He sat down heavily and picked up Remus's pillow, then buried his face in it, inhaling deeply.

Memory overlapped memory of all the good things he'd shared with Remus, but it didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made the loss and betrayal he'd suffered at the older man's hands even more painful.

 

 _I'm so tired of being miserable all the time,_ Harry thought as he sat there, _I'm so tired of always feeling so weak. Why did it have to happen this way?_

 

Harry lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He fell asleep with his face buried in the pillow, and prayed that tomorrow would be a better day. 

 

~*~

 

After a fortnight of putting off writing the letter, Harry was awoken one morning by a Ministry owl tapping at his window. It bore the letter that Harry had been expecting, but the fact that he'd known it was coming made its contents no easier to swallow.

 

_Dear Mr Potter,_

 

 _Weasley informed me in confidence about what happened. I can pursue this if you wish, we have grounds to bring Greyback in, though there is no guarantee that the charges will hold; given that he did not_ technically _break the terms of his conditional release._  
  
_As to your unfortunate circumstances, my hands are tied. As you know, for the security and safety of the greater wizarding population, it is illegal for a werewolf to be an Auror._

_I thought it would be best that you not come in. You have been marked, and most wizards will be able to recognize the marks for what they are. We will try to keep this quiet for as long as possible, and I have put out a cover story to the department that you are simply too ill to return to work._

 

_I truly am sorry Potter, you were a fine Auror._

_Senior Auror M. Sahir_

 

Harry stared down at the letter and the small box of personal effects from his desk that had accompanied it. Harry crushed the parchment in his hand and pitched it into the bin, but could not find any rage at the system, at Greyback for marking him, or at Remus. After nearly a fortnight alone, save for the occasional visit from Ginny, he felt entirely numb.

The knowledge that he was to be turned in just two weeks' time hadn't completely sunk in yet. Instead of savouring what little time he had left as a human, Harry had locked himself away, too distraught over his circumstances to even bother changing out of his pyjamas, or showering, or doing anything else. It was only thanks to Kreacher that he ate at all, and even then the food had to forced upon him with the threat of telling his friends if he didn't. Not keen for another 'intervention' of any kind, Harry ate grudgingly, but everything tasted like ash in his mouth.

Harry wandered down to the main level with his dressing gown drawn over his pyjamas and sunk down onto the sofa. His peaceful mourning of the loss of the career he'd dreamed of from the age of fourteen was quickly dashed when a sudden voice broke the stillness of the house.

“For Pete's sake Potter,” the voice sneered, and Harry whirled around to see Draco Malfoy stepping out of his fireplace. He siphoned the ash off his robes with a few quick flicks of his wand, then refocused his glare on his rival. “Moping _again_? What the bloody hell happened to the idiotic Gryffindor who beat the Dark Lord? Because I haven't seen hide nor hair of him in _months_. All I've found is this whiny little boy playing the abandoned wife routine...again.”

“What are you doing here Malfoy?” Harry asked without any venom. He felt simply too exhausted to bother being annoyed at the blond prat for barging into his home.

“I received a flurry of owls from Granger as well as Ginny insisting that I come over here and talk with you,” he explained with the same sneer of irritation in his voice, as though he'd rather be anywhere but in Harry's sitting room. “Something about me not caring about hurting your precious, delicate, little feelings and being rather straightforward with my impeccable advice,” Malfoy said, preening as he spoke, to which Harry rolled his eyes. “That, and they both threatened to hex me if I didn't.”

“ _You_ give _me_ advice. Lovely. I'm touched. Piss off,” Harry grumbled, and crossed his arms as he glared at Malfoy, who simply snorted at the demand.

“No. Suck it up Potty,” Malfoy replied at once, “I hate you. I hate coming over here every bloody time you have a crisis and are too busy wallowing in self-pity to actually _do_ anything about it. I wish you had friends who didn't care so damn much so I would stop getting pulled in to these ridiculous little dramas of yours, and yet here I am. Again.”

“Well good for you,” Harry mumbled, while he dropped his gaze to stare sullenly at the repaired coffee table, “there's nothing you or anyone else can do. Just leave me alone.”

“Do you really have such a low opinion of werewolves, of your bleeding _husband_ that becoming one is so awful?” Malfoy demanded, and the sneering, accusing statement caused Harry's gaze to snap back up in surprise. “You've spent the last two years steeped in werewolf culture, and suddenly you're losing your head over it? I never took you for prejudiced, Potter. That's my line.”

Harry pressed his lips into a thin line, but he could do little about the warm flush that crept up his neck at Malfoy's _husband_ comment. He dropped his gaze back to the table. Maybe if he just ignored Malfoy, he'd go away.

Malfoy muttered something under his breath, which was clearly a spell of some kind. Harry knew this, because not three seconds later he felt some sort of invisible force smack him in the forehead and force his gaze up to face the glaring blond prat.

“Listen to me your arse,” Malfoy growled with irritation, “I don't have all fucking day. Some of us have _lives_. You're being turned in a fortnight. You have no choice in the matter, so suck it up and deal with it. We're all tired of your pitiful _poor me_ routine. Good day.”

Without another word, Malfoy spun on his heel, stalked over to the fire grate, and was gone in a flash of green flame.

 

Harry glared at his empty fireplace, still a little dizzy from Malfoy's abrupt entrance and exit. His sudden appearance had completely distracted Harry from his sacking, and as he looked back down at his box of belongings on the table he let out a soft groan, and raked a hand through his greasy hair. The worst part of it all was the prat was right. Harry had no idea when he'd gotten so wise, though perhaps spending so much time in the presence of a mad Dark Lord had humbled him—or, more likely, he'd learnt it from Ginny.

The thought of Ginny brought a faint smile to his face. She had been the only person who'd bothered to come and try and talk him out of his depression, save for the abysmal first attempt by Ron and Hermione. He knew he had some damage control to do with his friends, but first he needed to figure out what to do about Remus, in particular because the bond was breaking, and Harry could feel it.

It was subtle, and not something he would have noticed had he not been looking for it, like hairline cracks in a windscreen, and it was only a matter of time before it shattered. 

When it did, Harry would be free.

Now that he'd had a chance to calm down, Harry was left to wonder: Did he really want to be free of Remus? After everything, did Harry still love him?

Harry trudged upstairs, stripping off his clothing as he went, his head in the clouds. He left a trail of soiled garments from the stairs to the bathroom, and as he turned on the water as hot as he could stand it and stepped under the spray, the answer came to him easily.

Yes.

He still loved Remus. Harry loved Remus more than he ever thought he could, and that made things all the more difficult. The hot shower spray obscured Harry's tears, and he stood stock-still under the hot water, willing it to wash away not just a fortnight worth of dirt and grime, but all his ill will he'd festered over the last weeks and months towards the man—the werewolf. What he would be all too soon. A shiver ran through him despite the heat, and he reached for his soap.

Harry still loved Remus, this was true, but he wished fervently that he didn't. He scrubbed his skin almost raw, wishing desperately for the soap to take away his feelings for the man, and not just the grime that clung to his skin.

 

He spent over an hour in the shower, and after Harry had spelled himself dry, he headed to the bedroom to find some fresh clothes.

 

It was when he was tugging a jumper over his T-shirt that Harry heard the most peculiar, unexpected sound.

A soft knocking on his front door.

Someone wanted to come in, and Harry was fairly certain that he knew exactly who it was. 


	14. Seventy Times 7

Chapter 14 – Seventy Times 7

 

The knock sounded again.

Harry gritted his teeth as he raked a hand through his damp hair. He knew exactly who it was, but he rather wished that he didn't. It was a confrontation Harry had been hoping to put off, but it would seem that that would not be an option.

He shifted his gaze to the open bedroom door, and for once he did not feel any mixture of conflicting feelings towards whom he was about to face. Instead, all he felt was an even rage. His fury did not bubble to the surface; anyone who may have been looking at him would likely have assumed that Harry was perfectly calm. Harry took one steadying breath to brace himself, pivoted on his heel, and strode out into the hall.

Harry took his time heading downstairs. His too-long jeans pooled at his ankles, and his bare feet slapped softly against the cold stone. Harry drew his wand as he reached the front door, and held it at the ready just in case. He drew in another breath, then pulled the door open.

 

As predicted, Remus stood on the top step. He looked nervous and hopeful;-, but as Harry frowned at him that hopeful glint in his familiar amber gaze flickered and died.

“You're early,” Harry said, his voice sounding dead in his own ears. Remus's brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, and Harry's frown deepened.

“Full moon isn't for another thirteen days,” Harry replied, and he gritted his teeth as he remembered Greyback's words, _'I have spent too much energy already trying to convince that foolish werewolf to stop being a bloody coward and return to you.'_ Was Remus only here because Greyback told him to come back? The implication made Harry feel even worse. To his words, Remus's gaze darkened.

“That's not why I'm here, Harry,” Remus replied. His own deadened tone of voice sounded very similar to Harry's.

“Then why _are_ you?” Harry demanded, his anger making his voice tremble, “you've made it quite clear that you don't want me anymore. The bond is breaking, I _know_ you can feel it. Are you just here to say something even more hurtful than what you've already put me through in these last months? Because you could have sent it by Owl Post but then you'd miss that look on my face—” Remus cut off Harry's acidic words abruptly.

“ _Damn it, Harry_ ,” Remus snarled angrily as he stepped forward, but Harry held his ground. “I came to apologize. I didn't want this to happen—none of it. It wasn't my fault, technically, but I still feel responsible—”

“—It wasn't your fault that you blocked the bond and reduced me to a living skeleton?” Harry snarled at him, “that you left me _when I needed you most_ , because you're too much of a fucking coward to deal with your Lycanthropy enough to _help_ me?” Harry's voice cracked in his absolute fury at the older man, but he was far from finished. “I'm fucking terrified, Remus, and you _left_ me. I'd love to know how you theorize that none of that is your fault—oh, I'm sorry, _technically_ not your fault.”

“That's not what I meant Harry,” Remus said with a warning growl in his tone, but Harry refused to back down, not this time. Seeing Remus had snapped something in him, and all the rage, misery, and fear came pouring out of him all at once. Remus continued his explanation, his voice shaking as well, though the tremor seemed to stem from anguish, rather than anger. “I mean that it's not technically my fault that you were partially turned—I would never do this to someone intentionally.”

“No, you just scarper the moment your partner confides in you,” Harry replied acidly, “then do everything in your power to separate yourself from him, even though you _know_ that it's a permanent bond, and—” Harry's ranting was cut off as Remus's strong, rough hands closed over his upper arms. The hold wasn't tight, but to Harry it felt almost painfully constricting.

“ _Harry_ , listen to me, _please—_ ” Remus pleaded, but Harry had heard enough.

“Get your _fucking_ hands off me!” Harry snarled, and shoved Remus back. He let Harry go at once and took a minor step back, his eyes wide with shock. “I'm not some pliable fucking housewife who will take you back every time you screw up! What, you thought you'd come back here and all would be forgiven and forgotten? You _destroyed_ me, Remus. My life is in shambles, and I'm fucking terrified. I needed you, I—” Harry cut off his angry retort as his voice broke, and he brought his hands up to his face as a sob escaped him before he could stop it. Remus was there in an instant, his hold gentle, and Harry wrenched himself quickly out of the embrace before he succumbed to the burning need he had for Remus. He wouldn't do that to himself again—he _couldn't._

“Just get out of here,” Harry said hoarsely, his eyes shining, and Remus looked as though Harry had asked him to cut off his own arm.

“I can't leave you like this,” Remus countered, his voice heavy with his guilt. Harry barked out a cold laugh.

“Oh _really_?” he sneered, “why not? You did before.” Harry took a shaking breath in an effort to calm himself down, but it did not help very much. “Just...get out. I don't want to see you. I can't—I can't trust you any more. I open my heart to you, and you stomp on it. I'm not so much a glutton for punishment that I haven't learnt my lesson. Get out.”

Remus hesitated, Harry's cold tone sparking a look of horror in Remus's eyes.

“Harry, please...” Remus began, but Harry had heard enough.

“ _Get out!_ ” he screamed, “I never, _never_ want to see you again!” Harry's voice broke and tears streaked his cheeks. Remus didn't move. “I mean it Remus, get the fuck out or I swear you will live to regret it.”

“It's a little too late for that,” Remus said softly as he took a small step back. His own eyes began to gleam in the low light of the front hall. “I already regret it.”

Without another word, he turned and left.

 

“It's too late for a lot of things, Remus,” Harry whispered sadly to himself as he watched the older man go, this time, on Harry's demand. A solitary tear trickled down the older man's cheek as Harry watched him step down to the front garden, pause just inside the gate and offered Harry one backward glance, then Disapparated. 

 

~*~

 

Harry had foolishly assumed that his confrontation with Remus would be his last, but the following morning, he was awoken by a loud pounding upon his front door.

“Harry, please!” Remus called from the other side. “I just want to talk!”

This time, Harry didn't open the door. What was there to talk about? Remus had ruined _everything_. Harry had absolutely nothing to say to him.

The knocking faded away, and Harry assumed that he'd gone.

  

He proceeded with his day, feeling more alive than he had in months. It was true that Harry was still terrified of his turning in just twelve days' time, but more or less officially cutting ties with Remus had breathed new life into him. He still missed him, and he mourned for the days past when everything had been perfect, but after everything he'd endured these last months, Harry was deeply relieved to be free of him. Even so, the ring that Remus had given him sat innocently upon Harry's night table, drawing his gaze every time he stepped into the bedroom.

Harry needed to get out, see the world, but at the same time he was reluctant to go anywhere that he might be easily recognized. He pulled on a jeans a jumper, and wrapped his old Gryffindor scarf around his neck to hide the marks before he pulled his jacket on over top. For a moment, he was grateful that Greyback had decided to ruin his life during a season where a scarf would not look out of place.

His relaxed mood died the moment he opened the door.

Remus sat on the steps, his head buried in his hands in a position so highly reminiscent of the time before the bond had settled that Harry felt a chill of recognition rush through him. As soon as the door opened Remus looked up, his expression wary but hopeful, while Harry hid his emotions for the man—the pain, the longing, the _rage—_ behind a stony mask.

“What part of _I never want to see you again_ wasn't clear?” he asked, and Remus flinched as though Harry had struck him.

“Harry, I...” Remus trailed off and stood slowly, his head ducked forward a little. Harry felt as though the shamed face Remus was now showing him had a certain lupine edge to it—very much like a puppy that had been scolded.

“You _what?_ ” Harry asked coldly, and curled his hands into fists. The bond was breaking, but it was not yet broken. He could feel the first inkling of that old longing coming back to him—that desire to ignore all the pain, all the mistrust, _everything_ , and just start over.

These days, Harry could more easily recognize what was and was not his own mind at work, and he ignored the temptation with little difficulty.

“What do you _want_ , Remus?” Harry demanded, his eyes narrowing into a glare, “I haven't got all day.” This time, Harry winced. There was a distinctive _Malfoy_ ring to his tone and words, and he hated that he might have picked up a quirk or two from that git just because he was hanging around more often.

“I want to apologize, I want...I want to make things better,” he said at last, but he seemed incapable of looking directly at Harry.

“There is nothing to make better,” Harry said coldly. “Remus, how can you not understand what you have done to me, to us? There is nothing to make better—nothing to fix, or mend, or salvage. You've broken my trust—shattered it, really. How can you possibly expect me to believe _anything_ you have to say?”

“I—I was wrong, Harry, I should never have fled like that, I—”

“But you _did_ , Remus, that's the point.” Harry felt his breath catch as he cut across the werewolf's explanations. “Your inability to accept who you are is what destroyed this relationship. I don't want to hear apologies, or reasons _why_ you did what you did, because honestly, I don't care, not anymore.”

Remus reached out for him, and Harry lurched back as though Remus carried some sort of catching disease. In a way, he did. Harry was fairly certain that if Remus touched him, his fragile self control would shatter, and he'd let the man back in. He couldn't do that to himself again. He _wouldn't_.

“Harry,” Remus said in a tone that sounded close to tears, “please, I need you.”

“No, you don't,” Harry replied at once, “get out of here. Leave me _alone_.”

He slammed the door in Remus's horrified face. Harry pressed his back against the door and slid to the floor, his face buried in his hands.

  

~*~

  

Ten days until the full moon, and Harry counted two days since he'd last seen Remus. Unfortunately, but the man still had not left his thoughts—or his dreams.

 

_Harry turned to Remus and kissed him, slowly, tenderly, and Remus responded in kind. A hand at Harry's hip and the other at his cheek, Remus held Harry as though he was made of glass. Harry urged Remus over to the bed, and the older man was all too happy to comply._

_Laying down in the centre of the bed, Remus knelt over Harry and tasted him slowly, almost painfully so. Harry let out a soft, impatient whine, and his hands dropped from Remus's shoulders to the front of his cardigan, only to have them slapped away._

“ _Let me,” Remus murmured as he broke the kiss and eased back, perched lightly upon Harry's groin as he unbuttoned the garment and shrugged it off, closely followed by his button-down shirt. Harry reached a hands up to brush across Remus's abdomen, and the muscle twitched under his fingertips._

_Remus reached forward to relieve Harry of his jumper and T-shirt, and he lifted himself a few inches off the bed to help the older man along._

“ _You're beautiful, Harry,” Remus whispered as he leant in to kiss him again, “I love you, I love you...”_

 

Harry woke with tears in his eyes.

“Why can't I let you go?” Harry asked brokenly, his voice hoarse and a sob caught in his throat.

Harry forced himself out of bed and into the shower, the water scalding and flushing his skin a faint pink. Harry didn't care—his life was crashing down around him. A little burn was hardly top of his list of concerns at the moment.

 

After a meagre breakfast, Harry curled up on the sofa and stared despondently into the fire. The flames jumped and crackled over the dry logs, and his mind supplied for him an endless stream of dark thoughts and terrifying reminders.

 

 _Ten days_ , Harry thought with a faint tremor, _ten days from now, I won't be human anymore. How long before_ The Daily Prophet _finds out? They'll have a field day with this one..._

 

It was early afternoon when Harry was drawn from his musings by a sharp knock on the door.

This wasn't the same knock he'd heard during Remus's last two attempts. It was loud, confident. That alone struck Harry as odd, but regardless, the sound elicited a groan of frustration from him. He forced himself up and trudged over to the door.

“Look, Remus, I _told_ you...” Harry began as he opened the door, but stopped short, because the person on the other side of the door wasn't Remus.

“Ulrich?” Harry asked, blinking bemusedly, but the beta werewolf merely smiled at him kindly. “What are you doing here? How did you get past the warding?”

“I tracked your friend Miss Granger,” he explained, “your... _mate_ showed back up at the territory looking half-dead, figuratively speaking, mind you, so I figured that I better come out here and see what caused the meltdown.” Ulrich looked away for a moment, then refocused his dark eyes on Harry. “Alpha doesn't know that I'm here. Your friend gave me the address, and I thought I'd come out here to see what happened.”

“Where do I start?” Harry asked with a snort, but didn't move. Ulrich's expression was open and kind, but how did he know that the werewolf wouldn't merely drag him back to Greyback's territory if he let him in? As casually as he could, he moved his hand to the handle of his wand that was tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.

“If it helps,” Ulrich said as he lifted his hands in a show of surrender, clearly not missing Harry's hand movement, “I am not here on Alpha's command. As I said, he doesn't know that I'm here. I've no desire to drag you kicking and screaming back to the territory, I just want to talk.”

Harry eyed him critically. He had absolutely no reason to believe him, but by the same token, he _had_ kept him safe the previous year when he had made the rounds to the various larger werewolf packs nearby, and had never once tried anything funny. His expression now was like it was back then—open and honest. Somehow, Harry knew that he was telling the truth.

Praying that he wasn't making a huge mistake, Harry's hand tensed on the handle of his wand just in case as he stepped aside to admit him.

Ulrich stepped inside, and once more Harry found himself struck by the sheer _size_ of these dominant werewolves. Ulrich easily dwarfed Harry, and inside his front hall, like Hagrid in some ways, Ulrich seemed almost too big to be allowed. This was on a much smaller scale, of course, but the impression still stuck with Harry—that, and his dark eyes were just as kind as Hagrid's always were.

“Er, do you want anything?” Harry asked awkwardly, “I've got tea, firewhisky...” Harry turned and began to walk back towards the sitting room, but hesitated a few feet from the doorway, and spun on his heel and headed for the dining room instead. Harry could feel his skin practically humming in Ulrich's presence, in particular how it felt almost _wrong_ to have him here. He couldn't explain it, and vaguely wondered if it had something to do with the bond, or if its cause was from something else entirely. As he walked, he was careful to keep Ulrich in his field of vision. Though he seemed perfectly trustworthy, Harry had not forgotten that he worked for Greyback, and for all he knew this was some ploy to get him back to the pack territory. He wasn't ready for that—not yet.

“Firewhisky's fine,” Ulrich replied, and sat down at the wooden table while Harry drew his wand and summoned two glasses and the fifth of firewhisky with a few lazy flicks. He poured out a healthy measure for each of them and slid the glass across to the werewolf before he sat down opposite him.

Ulrich did not speak at first, but took his time taking a sip of the liquor and savouring it as though he'd been served the nectar of the Gods.

“This makes a nice change,” he said approvingly, “home-brewed firewhisky just isn't ever as good as Ogden's.”

“You home-brew firewhisky?” Harry asked with an arched brow, and Ulrich smiled a little, a trace of amusement in his gaze.

“Alpha doesn't like us venturing out into the wizarding world—too dangerous,” he explained, “we're a self-sufficient pack; we grow our own wheat and vegetables, we hunt, and we brew. It's quite rare for any of us to go into Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley for much of anything.”

“Hm,” Harry hadn't quite expected that, but in hindsight, it made sense. He entertained himself for a moment with the mental image of a bunch of werewolves in big floppy sun hats tending to a field of carrots before Ulrich's voice drew him back to the present.

“So, may I ask what happened to cause your mate's state when he arrived back at the territory?” Ulrich asked, this time without any hint of disapproval in his voice in reference to his and Remus's relationship. Harry refocused his attention on Ulrich, and he sipped his own drink while he thought how to best answer the question. It wasn't like he knew Ulrich particularly well, and he was caught between reluctance to tell him _anything_ , and the desire to tell him _everything_.

“Everything...sort of happened at once,” Harry began as he dropped his gaze to the tabletop. “Greyback marked me, Remus tried to stop him, but he couldn't, I was sacked, all my well-meaning friends and one irritating prat all tried to drag me out of my depression, and...Remus tried to apologize.”

“You don't want him to apologize?”

“How do you apologize for all the shit he's put me through?” Harry demanded, his gaze snapping back up angrily. “I mean, he...he _left_ me. He _knew_ what it would do to me, and he fucking _left_ me. I almost died thanks to him. How am I supposed to forgive him for that? Good intentions or not, it doesn't change the fact that I feel utterly destroyed thanks to him.”

Ulrich was quiet for a long time following Harry's short rant.

He sat across from Harry, sipped the drink he'd been given, and studied Harry over the rim of the glass. It made Harry feel strangely vulnerable, and at first he could not place why the look felt so familiar. After a half-beat, Harry realized that it felt exactly the same as the way Dumbledore used to study him. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.

“Um, how come Greyback did this to me?” Harry asked awkwardly, keen to move away from discussing Remus. “This way, I mean. I thought he'd just turn me, not...draw it out.”

“No one explained it to you, not even your—Remus?” Ulrich asked, and Harry felt his stomach turn over at the mention of the other werewolf. Why did every conversation have to come back to _him_?

“No, no one's told anything,” Harry muttered, “Greyback said he'd marked me, but he didn't say why, he just tried to drag me back to your territory.”

“The short version is that it's a ritual,” Ulrich said, and paused to sip his drink. Harry topped it off for him, and Ulrich nodded his thanks before he continued. “Anyone can be bitten and turned, but if they're turned within parameters of certain rituals, it makes for a stronger werewolf.”

“So drawing it out isn't just Greyback being vindictive or something?” Harry asked, and immediately wished he hadn't when Ulrich's gaze darkened.

“Contrary to what you have been led to believe, Harry, Alpha is not a sadist,” he replied, and Harry was mildly startled by the note of offence in his tone. “He does what he has to for the safety of his people, nothing more. On occasion, his hand has been forced, and he has done things that cemented his infamy, but he has never once hurt anyone just for... _kicks_.”

Despite all the recent proof Harry had of this fact, it was still hard to believe that _Greyback_ was as good a person as Ulrich claimed him to be. In fact, most werewolves Harry had met spoke of Greyback like most wizards spoke of Dumbledore—like he was some sort of hero. It took some getting used to, and so many years of seeing and hearing about Greyback's ferocity made it difficult for Harry to separate fact from fiction in his mind. He quickly pushed forward with the conversation,intent on not further offending the other werewolf accidentally. Given that Ulrich looked like he could bend Harry into a pretzel using his pinkie, it seemed a good idea to _not_ make him mad.

“So, er, what are these ritual-things?” Harry asked, his tone apologetic. Ulrich seemed to recognize that he was sorry for his harsh words, and he nodded once before he began to explain.

“When one is marked, the werewolf who tastes their blood will be able to sense whether the human will be a submissive wolf or a dominant one. At the following moon, the marked are tracked by the wolf who marked them—in this case, it will be Alpha who tracks you—and you will be turned.” Ulrich paused as he took another drink, his expression somewhere between hesitant and thoughtful. After another moment of silence, he continued.

“For dominant wolves, like me, they are bitten and left alone. They need to survive it on their own. If they do not die from it, they will awaken turned, and over the next months they will grow into their dominant blood.”

“Grow into?” Harry asked, perplexed, and Ulrich chuckled.

“Something like a growth spurt. Dominant wolves get taller, broader, put on more muscle mass. We're designed by nature as protectors, and we need to have the power to do that,” he explained, and Harry felt a stirring of unease in his gut. He had heard that more than once when he turned, he would be a submissive, not a dominant. The idea of relying on others for his own protection did not sit well with him, and felt unsettlingly like his Hogwarts years—so many people had died for his protection, was it really to continue well into his adult life? Would he ever be able to fend for himself? He wasn't weak—far from it, and he hated that no one ever seemed to believe that.

“Submissives are powerful in their own right, but still physically weaker than dominants. Their turning is far more...” Ulrich paused, looking troubled.

“Far more what?” Harry asked, and winced when he felt a tremor lace his words.

“Difficult,” Ulrich replied at last. “A submissive must be bitten more grievously. They must be close to death, and the one who turns them must keep them from further harm. That is why accidental, spur-of the moment turnings yields either dominants or casualties. Submissives are the caregivers, not the protectors.”

Dead silence followed Ulrich's words.

Harry set down his glass, and raked his shaking fingers through his hair roughly. He couldn't _do_ this. Just hand over his faith to these werewolves and _trust_ that he'd be taken care of? That wasn't him. It never had been.

“Submissives are protected by werewolf magic,” Ulrich continued, acting as though he had not noticed Harry's panic-stricken reaction to his words. “Like with werewolf society, submissives are always protected. _Nothing_ is more precious to a werewolf pack than the well-being of its submissive wolves. They are precious.”

“But...” Harry paused, momentarily amazed at how calm he sounded in his own ears. So much had happened, and so quickly, that it was almost like his mind could take no more strain, and had begun to take everything in stride. Harry shook off his unease at this realization and pushed forward. “R—er, I was told that some packs only see male subs as little more than...” Harry felt his face colour, but he apparently did not need to say it, given the way Ulrich's expression darkened.

“The rogues of our kind—outlaws, if you will, do not share our respect for submissives. They see submissive wolves as those they can take advantage of, not protect.”

“Are there a lot of those? Rogues, I mean,” Harry said, his voice shaking a little as he swallowed his fear. He did not want to show Ulrich how terrified he was by his explanation of what his turning will entail. Harry's mind refused to settle on one emotion for long, and it kept jumping between blind panic and perfect calm. The rapid mood swings were making him dizzy.

“Some,” Ulrich nodded his head once, “more than a few have taken up residence on the outskirts of our own territory within the last few weeks. Even among werewolves, Alpha has his fair share of enemies.” He chuckled, but Harry failed to see the humour in his words. Ulrich turned his attention to the door of the dining room, which looked directly into the sitting room. From their spot, they could clearly see the soft, orange glow of the sun beginning to set.

“I better get back,” Ulrich said, and paused to drain the last of the firewhisky from his glass. “Alpha will wonder where I am, and I need to get your scent off me before I return.”

Harry couldn't help but go red at that. Immediately, Ulrich chuckled.

“Not to worry Harry, it's faint enough that no one would suspect that we've been up to anything more than a friendly chat.”

“Oh, er, good,” Harry replied, but he could feel that he was still rather red. “Um, I'll walk you out, shall I?”

He stood, and they headed for the door. He bid the werewolf a goodbye, and thankfully, Remus was nowhere to be seen when he opened the front door. Harry had a feeling that with the impending moon, their decimated relationship, and Remus's current mental state, nothing good would come of Remus seeing Harry with another werewolf, even _if_ they weren't doing anything.

“Er, thanks,” Harry said on the top step of the house after Ulrich had stepped outside. He paused and turned back to Harry with an eyebrow arched in question. “For explaining things, I mean. I can't say I feel better about any of this, but it's nice to know what's coming, for a change.”

“Anytime, Harry,” he replied with a soft smile. “Be seeing you.”

He strode down the steps and with a spin and a sharp _crack_ , he was gone.


	15. Blood Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains my first attempt at anything at length involving Hagrid. I hope I did all right, I fiddled with it a ton to get it as close to authentic Hagridspeak as I could.
> 
>  **Warning:** This chapter contains werewolf violence and gore. Nothing like the torture scene in book one, but enough that it might make a couple people queasy.

Chapter 15 – Blood Moon

 

Harry hated how the more he tried to savour the time that he had left as a human, the more quickly it seemed to slip away.

Ten days turned into seven, then five, and at two days before the full moon, Harry had begun to go off his food. All of his friends alternating in spending time with him, while they too tried to savour the time Harry had left as a human, but it never seemed to be enough.

At the same time, his dreams—both the ones he'd been having for months, and his recent erotic dreams involving Remus—had morphed into nightmares filled with wolves, blood, and pain. Harry woke from them in a cold sweat, his mind haunted by their howls with a scream caught in his throat.

As the full moon approached, the dreams became so intense that Harry was terrified of going to sleep. How could he, only to be subject to the phantom pain of what he would experience first-hand in less than a week? It was only with a healthy dose of Dreamless Sleep potion every night did Harry manage to get any sleep at all, while he ignored the warnings of the potion's addictive nature. He'd take the addiction— _anything_ to not have those dreams again.

In the passing days, Harry did not see Remus again, and he hated how much he missed his presence. The few times he'd ventured outside Harry was awash with a scent that he recognized, but could not place. Something in his gut told him that it was Remus, but if he was hanging around, why wasn't he trying to talk to Harry, like he had before?

Every time this happened, Harry forced his confusion to the back of his mind and refused to dwell on it. _I won't waste my time thinking on him anymore,_ Harry thought fiercely, _he doesn't love me, not really. Someone who loves me never would've done this to me._

 

The day before the full moon dawned cool and bright, and Harry rose early to begin his last full day as a human. He had a full itinerary planned, and for once, Harry was looking forward to what lay ahead. He ate a quick breakfast, showered, and dressed, then jumped into the Floo as he cried, “Hogwarts!”

 

“Mr Potter,” McGonagall greeted him with a nod as he tumbled out of her fireplace and into the circular Headmaster's office.

“Professor,” he greeted as he stood and brushed off the soot.

“When you've finished with your visit, the password to the office is, _Panthera Tigris Tigris,_ ” she said without looking up from her paperwork.

“Thanks Miss,” he said with a smile, and at last she glanced up to return it. He did not miss the faint look of sympathy in her gaze, and for one moment he wondered if she knew about what was going to happen to him tomorrow night—though he rather hoped that she didn't.

Harry shook off the thought as he hopped down the spiral staircase two at a time, and felt awash with nostalgia as he passed the stone gargoyle and made his way into the passageways of Hogwarts.

 

Memory after memory assaulted his senses as he walked and pointedly ignored the gaping students that slowed to have a longer look at him. The first years looked much smaller than he ever remembered being, as did the seventh years, as a matter of fact. Had he _really_ been that short and scrawny? He shook his head and adjusted the scarf around his neck as he offered a faint smile to the professors that passed him by—Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor Trelawney...though he was quick to slip away from the latter before she had a chance to make another prediction about his impending doom.

Harry stepped out of the castle and onto the grounds, at last politely shaking off the last of the straggler students who seemed to be channelling Colin Creevey as they trailed after him and tried to strike up a conversation. He headed towards a familiar wooden cabin on the edge of the forest, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered his first visit to Hagrid's cabin in his first year, and all the shenanigans he'd gotten up to since. It seemed strange to him how he now actually missed the less painful encounters he'd had over the years with dragons, trolls, Acromantula, and Slytherin's basilisk.

Fang's booming barks sounded out as he approached, and they pulled him from his memories. Harry stopped at the front door, and knocked once, while Fang's continued barks nearly drowned out Hagrid's voice as he lumbered towards the door.

“Abou' time! I thought yeh fergot where I lived!” Hagrid cried, opening the door wide to let Harry in, then let go of the boarhound's massive collar, and he made a mad dash for Harry, who jumped up at once to lick at his ears.

“Hi Hagrid,” Harry said with a slightly forced smile. “Sorry I haven't been by—things have been a bit mad.”

“Ar, things usually are for yeh, aren' they?” he asked rhetorically while Harry snorted and nodded, finally pushing Fang off when he began to nose at his scarf. “Tea? I got summat stronger if yeh like—from what I hear yeh might need it.”

At Hagrid's words Harry tensed, his hand still on Fang, who had been trying to jump back up on him as Harry followed Hagrid over to his scrubbed wooden table.

“What have you heard?” Harry asked nervously while he climbed onto one of the available chairs.

“That yeh an' Professor Lupin have been spending a lot o' time tergether,” Hagrid began, his bushy beard twitching into a warm smile when Harry flushed a deep scarlet, “an' I think if yeh'd take off that scarf o' yers, there'd be summat there that'd make a lot o' people very nervous.”

Hagrid poured a generous measure of some sort of amber liquid into two bucket-sized mugs, and slid one across to Harry, who closed his shaking hands around the ceramic without looking up.

“Who told you?” Harry finally asked as he looked up at his oldest friend with a terrified stare. He didn't bother trying to hide his fear—Hagrid had seen him at his best and worst, and Harry was certain that there was nothing that he could say or do that would make Hagrid think any less of him.

“No one needed ter tell me,” Hagrid said simply before taking a swig of his drink, “when I heard Professor Lupin an' yeh bonded, I knew summat like this was bound ter happen. Yeh're a powerful wizard Harry—always have been. It don' mean yeh _lose_ yer humanity by being turned inter a werewolf, yeh'll still be Harry. Yeh'll _always_ be Harry.”

Harry didn't know what to say to that, and instead sipped the drink he'd been given. It took a great deal of effort to keep a straight face as the stuff—which tasted like how he imagined Moonshine would—burned its way down his throat, but he couldn't do very much about his watering eyes.

“All righ' there Harry?” Hagrid asked with a chuckle and a grin.

“I think my œsophagus just melted,” Harry rasped, and coughed a little while Hagrid chuckled again. “What _is_ this stuff, Hagrid?”

“Me home brew. I don' usually share me stores with people, they find it a little strong—” Hagrid said while Harry stared. A _little_? “—but I thought yeh might be able ter use it.”

“I'm not gonna go blind, am I?” Harry asked with a faint grin, and Hagrid chuckled again.

“Nah. I wouldn' give yeh summat _that_ strong,” he said reassuringly, though his phrasing did make Harry wonder if Hagrid really _did_ have something that strong, or if he was being figurative. “But Harry,” Hagrid's tone shifted to serious, “yeh don' need ter worry. Yer life won' end just because yer gonna be turned. Yeh can still live a full life—jus' look at Professor Lupin!”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a faint smile. He wouldn't call Remus an ideal example of a werewolf living a full and happy life, but he knew Hagrid was just trying to cheer him up, and he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. He wasn't keen to discuss his relationship problems or Remus with Hagrid, and he quickly switched topics. “So, what've you got for your Magical Creatures lessons these days?”

 

They eased into comfortable conversation, and Harry switched to tea to save his throat from any further punishment. He politely declined Hagrid's offer of rock cakes, but accepted the treacle tarts that he swore came from the Hogwarts kitchens. The familiarity of visiting with Hagrid brought with it a wave of nostalgia, and like with the walk over, he could clearly remember visiting Hagrid that first time—back when he'd been too polite to refuse Hagrid's cooking.

At the end of the visit, Harry felt a painful pull at his heart; he didn't want to leave. To leave meant he needed to turn back to his decimated life—to fear, to loneliness. He didn't want to go back to that; he would have been content to stay chatting with Hagrid for the rest of his life, if he could.

“Yer gonna be fine Harry,” Hagrid said confidently, clapping him on the shoulder gently, though it was still enough to make Harry's knees buckle. “Don' let anyone make yeh think yer less than y'are jus' because yer not completely human anymore. S'not important.”

“Thanks Hagrid,” Harry said with a weak smile, though he didn't completely feel it. Tomorrow night, everything was going to change, and Harry could do nothing to stop it. He had completely blown past blind terror, and found himself stuck in a state of numbness, uncertain what he was feeling or if indeed he could feel anything at all.

As he walked back to the castle, up the spiral staircase, and into Professor McGonagall's Floo connection, Harry began to wonder if _anything_ would ever go right in his life. His life had been one miserable event after another, the blessed reprieves from the loss and grief always too short for Harry's liking.

The green flame of the Floo enveloped him, and he began to seriously doubt that anything ever would.

 

Harry's next stop was Diagon Alley, and he smiled weakly when he spotted Ron, Hermione, and Ginny(thankfully without Malfoy in tow) outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, waiting for him.

“Hi Harry,” Hermione said, standing from the table they'd been sitting at and hugged him, followed by Ginny, and Ron clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Hey guys,” he said weakly, smiling at each of them in turn, and fumbled with the scarf around his neck to make sure the claim marks were adequately covered. The action was met with their fixed grins dissolving into individual looks of worry, concern, and sympathy.

It was a little cold out for ice cream, but that didn't stop them from each ordering enormous sundaes, piled high with hot fudge, whipped cream, and chopped nuts. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Harry picking at the treat rather than eat it, and it was Hermione who broke finally broke the tense silence.

“Erm, how was Hagrid's, Harry?” she asked, and Harry smiled at her weakly.

“It was fine. I think he permanently destroyed my throat with some of his home-brewed alcohol, but other than that it was the same. Normal,” Harry said, dropping his gaze from his friends and to the sundae before him. He'd wanted so much to just enjoy his last day, but it was difficult to do so when he knew what was coming.

“Well at least you didn't go blind...er,” Ron said, and Harry snorted as he looked back up.

“Thanks ever so, Ron,” Harry replied sarcastically, and his words were met with a grin. “Where's Malfoy today?” Harry asked, shifting his focus to Ginny. “Didn't feel like coming out for ice cream with us?” To this, Ginny's gaze darkened, and Ron began howling with laughter.

“Ron thought it'd be funny to transfigure Draco's legs into strawberry jam. He's still at St Mungo's,” Ginny replied stiffly as she crossed her arms, while Harry joined in with Ron's laughs.

“It's _not_ funny, you two!” Hermione chimed in, a shrill edge to her voice, “Malfoy could've been seriously hurt.”

“Oh he's fine, Hermione,” Ron said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he began to calm down. “He's just being a drama queen.”

Ginny looked beyond irritated, and she crossed her arms as she glared at the pair of them. Harry grinned.

“Don't worry, Ginny, I'll... _preserve_ my remarks for the next time I see him.”

Ginny did not hesitate to reach across the smack him for that one.

 

Like with Hagrid, they fell into comfortable conversation with relative ease, while Harry did his level best to push his panic surrounding his imminent turning to the back of his mind. This was made rather difficult by Hermione's varied attempts to get him to talk about it, and each time she was cut off by Ron or Ginny. He managed a weak smile of thanks to whichever redhead it was who silenced her, and they forced the conversation back to something normal—Ron and Hermione's wedding plans, Ginny's Quidditch career, and nostalgic memories of Hogwarts, wherein they steered clear from the losses they'd endured in their later years.

As the sun began to dip on the horizon, Harry didn't want to leave. It had been a long time since he just socialized with his friends, and not met with them for some other purpose. However, the other three began to talk of getting home, and Harry reluctantly stood and joined them as they made the trip down the street to The Leaky Cauldron, and they each took their turns taking the Floo home.

 

Harry fell from the hearth a little more gracefully than his usual tumble, and he smiled as he stood up and cleaned off his clothes with a few quick flicks of his wand. _Maybe this turning will mean I'll be less accident prone..._ he thought, but the intended humour in the words came out flat, and as he remembered what was to come in roughly twenty-four hours, he felt a cold chill run through him.

 

Harry made it through a silent dinner, and an evening in front of the fire with his well-worn copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , and as he slipped into bed that night and caught sight of the nearly-full moon, his fear peaked again as he remembered what was coming, and his breath hitched as he broke down. Harry hugged a pillow to his chest as he wept openly. Never in his life had he felt so alone.

  

~*~

  

Harry woke the following morning feeling distinctly ill, and after emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet, he went through the rest of the day in a queasy haze. It felt as though his brain had been replaced with cotton, and a dizzying sensation accompanied the nausea, which made him feel even worse than he already did.

He feverishly looked through his books as well as Hermione's novel of notes she'd written for him at the beginning of all this, but he could find nothing that might explain his symptoms. He was reluctant to contact Ron, Hermione, or Ginny about it; what if they came running over here too close to sunset and got caught in the crossfire between him and Greyback? If anything happened to them he would never forgive himself, and thus Harry went through the day nursing cup after cup of herbal tea, and hoped that maybe it was just nerves, and totally unrelated to the werewolf magic he'd been subjected to.

Harry spent most of the morning and afternoon curled up on the sofa, laying down with his head propped up on the cushions, and silently watched the progression of the sun in the sky, time slowly inching towards the end of his humanity—for good. Harry felt terribly lonely, laying there all by himself, but given that it was a Monday, all his friends were back at work, and as far as Harry was concerned, they'd sacrificed enough of their free time to his ongoing drama as it was. He could deal with this on his own—just as he'd dealt with the Dursleys for ten years, and every summer thereafter.

 

As evening came on, Harry's head cleared and he began to feel something like himself again. At dinner he was too nervous to eat and abandoned the rich beef stew and fresh bread Kreacher had made for him, and wandered back to the sitting room to watch the darkening sky.

As he sat there, Harry watched the moon rise, and he could feel the pull—that compulsion to go out and meet Lady Moon as she rose. His skin felt hot, clammy almost, and he almost completely forgot his fear in the overwhelming desire to leave the house.

“No,” he muttered to himself as he squeezed his eyes shut, “if I just stay in here Greyback can't turn me into a werewolf's chew toy. I just—I—” Harry's eyes flicked back open, and he let out a low moan of longing as he stared up at the swell of the moon. He could see his faint reflection in the window, and he was mildly startled by what he saw there: his black hair was untidy as always, his complexion was chalky-white in his near-blinding terror—but he couldn't remember ever seeing that ring of gold around his pupil before.

His legs began to move of their own accord, he walked shakily towards the back door. Certain he'd never see the place again, Harry bid Grimmauld Place a silent goodbye, and at last, he stepped outside.

 

Under the light of the full moon, Harry felt warm, as though he was bathing under a midsummer sun. For a brief moment, he felt relaxed, at peace, and his mind began to drift a little as he walked. He chose a direction at random, and Harry meandered down the street and towards the park that had altered his life so irrevocably one month earlier, only vaguely aware that he was heading in that direction at all.

 

Full dark had set in by the time Harry had woven through the playground equipment, and he stopped near the small copse of trees. The warmth he felt earlier had changed, and now he felt almost uncomfortably hot. He shed his light jacket and draped it over one of the low hanging tree branches, and in that same instant he heard a soft rustle in the vegetation from just behind him.

Harry froze, and with an overwhelming feeling of dread, he slowly turned his head to look behind him.

In the near-total darkness, he could see the faint pinpricks of a pair of eyes—fierce blue eyes. Harry's breath caught as Greyback growled at him; the soft noise broke his last tendrils of courage that Harry had been clinging to, and he bolted.

Greyback reacted instantly, taking off in hot pursuit, and Harry could all but feel the ground tremble with each of the creature's heavy footfalls as he gave chase. Harry was careful to watch where he was going in the dark—he refused to give in to Greyback without a fight. Harry zigzagged at random, taking sharp turns that he knew Greyback's large, hulking form could not mimic nearly as quickly, and tried to ignore how his gasping breaths had begun to burn in his chest. He couldn't give up—he _wouldn't._

Drops of water began to dot Harry's arms and shoulders, and his trainers skidded dangerously in the wet grass as it began to rain. Harry's breath hitched as he wobbled, nearly losing his balance, but his moment of hesitation was his one fatal mistake, and he let out a short scream as Greyback leapt forward and bowled Harry over, easily pinning him beneath his huge, bear-like form. Harry lifted an arm to protect his face and tensed, bracing himself for pain, but was surprised when none came, and instead he felt Greyback lurch away from him.

Harry's eyes snapped open, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he caught sight of Moony, who had used the element of surprise to knock Greyback away from Harry. _Even after everything_ , Harry thought with a sad smile, _you still came for me._

Both wolves were focused solely on each other, and Harry used their moment of distraction to get back, shivering now as his rain-soaked T-shirt clung to him, and stopped just inside the shelter of the trees to watch the pair of werewolves.

Greyback snarled at Moony, and Moony matched his alpha's growl of warning as he shifted his position so that he stood directly between Harry and Greyback. Harry didn't need to be a werewolf to recognize the body language of dominant claim. Under normal circumstances it would have made him angry, but at that moment, he was deeply grateful for it.

The standoff continued. Neither werewolf was willing to look away from the other, and after what Harry could estimate was about five minutes of tense standoff, something in the pair seemed to snap, and they both lunged forward.

 

This was not like the last werewolf fight Harry had witnessed. That encounter had been careful calculation, testing their foe for strengths and weaknesses, and with the sole goal of protection, at least on Moony's part.

This one was an all-out brawl.

Moony and Greyback moved so fast that Harry could not pick out where Greyback ended and Moony began. It was a mess of black, grey, and tawny fur, of high yelps and snarls, and Harry cringed when he caught sight of a splatter of dark blood stain the grass.

The werewolves separated, both their chests heaving, their jowls quivering, and Moony's muzzle was stained red. They circled each other, but Moony always careful to come in between Harry and Greyback, unwilling to give the alpha any opportunity to bite his mate.

The fight began again with renewed vigour, but Harry cringed when he saw Greyback make a lunge for Moony's throat, and his large jaws closed over the grey and tawny fur. Moony whined and lifted a huge paw, scratching deep welts in Greyback's foreleg, which took the beast by surprise and he dropped the smaller wolf. Moony wasted no time and wheeled around to lunge at his alpha again.

Unfortunately, both wolves seemed to be quickly tiring out, and Harry could see how each lunge and snap of their jaws was steadily becoming sloppier. Moony lunged at Greyback and he stopped the attack easily, his jaws closing around Moony's throat as he was slammed to the ground. Greyback held him there for what Harry counted was at least a solid minute, but before Moony had stopped struggling, Greyback released him. He regarded Moony for a long moment, and his large head cocked to the side, and Harry was overwhelmed with a feeling of bewilderment as Moony's ears pricked and his tail lifted higher.

Something significant had happened between them, but Harry couldn't work out exactly _what._

Harry's jaw dropped as he watched Greyback nudge Moony until he stood, then the pair of wolves proceeded to lick the wounds of the other. It was strangely intimate, and Harry felt a pang of betrayal in his chest at the sight. Why was _Greyback_ tending to his partner, his _mate_ like that?

Harry shook his head once. _No,_ he thought, _not your mate, not anymore._

The rain picked up, and both werewolves shook themselves vigorously, causing flecks of water and blood to go in every direction. The both rounded on Harry, and he felt his insides turn to ice.

“Moony?” Harry asked, his voice little more than a frightened squeak, just barely audible above the rush of the rainfall. “R-Remus?” he tried again, but with Greyback at his side, he advanced on Harry, his lips curled back to display sharp, red teeth. He remembered the damage those same jaws had done to the last dregs of Red Moon, and Harry thought he might be sick with fright.

“R-Remus, please...” Harry said softly, pleadingly, as he backed up very slowly while the pair advanced at the same pace. His words seemed to be lost on the werewolf, and Harry continued to step back slowly, afraid of moving too suddenly, while he tried to watch for some sort of tell that they were about to attack.

It was too late by the time Harry realized that the werewolves weren't simply following him.

They were _herding_ him.

This became painfully, frighteningly obvious as Harry found himself backed into a thick oak, and he immediately began to hyperventilate. Harry had no idea how much of Remus was really in there without the presence of the wolfsbane potion, and he trembled both with cold and fright at he looked on to the pair of werewolves with wide eyes.

 He was cornered.

It was all over.

They leapt forward, and Harry hissed in pain as the back of his head knocked against the tree's trunk from the force of the attack. He slid to the ground, dazed, and both wolves took hold of him. Moony's jaws closed over his side, while Greyback's bit down over his shoulder blade, and the alpha was the first to break the skin.

Harry screamed.

The pain was excruciating—beyond anything he'd ever felt in his life. Tears streaked his cheeks and blended in with the rainwater as Moony followed his alpha's lead and very sharp teeth sunk into Harry's flesh, and Harry cried out again as he felt his skin tear and bone snap.

It was not a gentle nip, nor was it a simple bite. Harry had expected that, but he had still not been wholly prepared for the blinding, white-hot pain that the pair had inflicted upon him. Moony's teeth sunk into Harry's fleshy abdomen like he was made of butter, and the distinct _snap_ as Greyback bit through his collarbone was almost worse than the pain itself.

Both wolves ripped their jaws from Harry's flesh, tearing it further in the process. Harry's hands went to his abdominal wound the moment the wolves released him to keep his intestines from spilling out, and within moments his hands were shining red. He had no idea what sort of internal damage the bite had caused, but as he sunk to the ground, his body began to go numb, and he felt strangely cold as he watched with increasingly blurred vision as Moony lurched forward with bloody jaws, as though intent of biting Harry again. Greyback intervened at once, and he shouldered the other wolf sharply as he snapped at him, stopping Moony's attack short.

Moony's reaction was proof enough that their bond had broken.

To Moony's werewolf mind, Harry was now no more than another human that he could tear apart.

With Harry's blood on Moony's tongue, Harry thought dazedly that it was a miracle that Greyback was able to hold him back at all. Moony looked beyond feral in that moment—he was bloodthirsty.

Greyback looked back at Harry, broken and bleeding on the ground, then back to Moony, who was still trying to get to him. The alpha wolf lost his patience with Moony and snapped at him again with a sharp snarl, and Moony's ears flattened against his head. Greyback shunted Moony, nudging him hard with his muzzle, and herded him away from Harry. He could hear the distant wet slaps of his footfalls through the trees as he herded Moony away.

 

~*~

  

Harry had no idea how much time had passed.

As icy rain rushed over him, Harry had begun to wonder if he'd even survive the twin bites. His hand pressed over the wound on his abdomen, which was still bleeding profusely, but it was painless, which Harry found deeply unsettling. He hadn't dared to look over at his shoulder; he was fairly certain the bone of his clavicle had pierced the skin, and Harry had no desire to see that.

A soft sound broke the monotony of the rainfall.

It was a voice, but Harry couldn't make out who it was. It was high, feminine, and it was closely followed by a second voice, this one distinctly male.

They drew closer, and Harry realized in an instant whom it was. Of course it would be Ron and Hermione who came to check in on him. Instead of feeling relief at the sound of their voices, a faint tendril of panic set in. Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind, he knew that them being here was bad. _Very_ bad. At the same time however, Harry couldn't remember _why_.

“Harry, Harry! Can you hear me?” Hermione's voice became clearer, and Harry heard her let out a small scream, and he know that she'd found him. He couldn't move enough to look towards her, but it didn't matter as she rushed forward, and suddenly her bushy brown hair and horrified face was all he could see.

He smiled weakly at her in an attempt to reassure her that he wasn't dead yet, and she moved a hand to his forehead. “Oh _Harry_...” she said softly, her voice cracking as her eyes filled with tears. “Ron, he's over here! Help me!”

“Bloody hell!” Ron's voice chimed in as he rushed forward. “Two bites...Hermione?”

“I don't know, we need to worry about that later. Come on, we need to get him inside. I left my potions bag back at Grimmauld Place.”

“Hermione, he should really go to St. Mungo's...” Ron began, but trailed off.

“No way, the press would have a field day if it gets out that Harry Potter was turned. I think that I have everything that we need back at the house, I just want to get some Blood Replenishing Potion into him, he's as white as a sheet...”

Soft footsteps.

 _No,_ Harry thought as he looked up at his two best friends with wide, horrified eyes. _Run, you have to run..._

They did not seem to catch his warning expression, nor the soft approach of Greyback returning to where he'd left Harry broken and bleeding.

“All right, I'll get him,” Ron said, “just lead the way and keep an eye out for...well, you know.” His voice shook, and Harry felt a pair of arms gently lift him off the ground. His destroyed shoulder protested to the sudden movement, and Harry let out a soft yelp of pain.

“Careful, Ron!” Hermione cried shrilly, her voice cutting through the silence unpleasantly.

“Shit, sorry, Harry,” Ron said, his voice shaking a little, and he adjusted his grip to take some of the pressure off the broken bone.

At the same moment, Harry heard three sounds in quick succession: A snarl—almost a roar—Hermione's high, frightened scream, and a high, keening yelp of pain.

“Run Ron!” Hermione cried, “take him and run! No, no, I'm all right, just please, _run!_ ”

Whatever happened next, Harry was uncertain. 

Peaceful black of unconsciousness enveloped him at last, and distantly Harry was certain that he could hear Hermione screaming.

 

To Be Continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaaaaaand scene. Thank you guys so much for reading, and now I will be taking roughly 2 months off to write the first draft of the final instalment of this series: New Moon Rising. The hiatus is longer this time because I'm back in school, so I don't have as much time as I usually do for fanfic stuff.
> 
> If you want to keep up with how the draft if going, or if you have questions about the series(or any of my work, really), the best way to reach me is through Tumblr @jbankai89. Thank you so, so, so, so much for all of your wonderful comments, kudos, bookmarks, everything! I know I rarely respond to comments, but I do read and save every single one. So again, thank you for taking an interest in this series, and I'll see you guys soon with book 3!
> 
> Until then,
> 
> xox James
> 
> PS. I'd just like to note that if there was gonna actually be Major Character Death in this fic, I would have tagged it, because I am (generally) not an asshole. I hope that that will alleviate some of your worries about our hero ^_^


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